Percussion
by Nameless Boast
Summary: When the time stream itself appears to be falling apart, Trunks must again journey to the past to set right what has gone wrong. He gets far more than he bargained for, however, when he lands ten years later than he'd intended.
1. Prologue

**Percussion  
Prologue**

* * *

**per·cus·sion** (pə'kaʃən) _n._: The sound, vibration, or shock caused by the striking together of two objects.

* * *

_December 9, 783 A.D._

She wanted to be wrong.

The woman stared at the three monitors powered up in front of her, running simulation after simulation. And she desperately wanted to be wrong.

It had been nearly a year since her son had last returned from his journey seventeen years into the past. Nearly a year since her boy, still a teenager, had freed the world from the parade of horrors that had been visited upon them for nearly two decades.

Her scarred, battered world was finally beginning to heal. The damage wrought by the androids during their too-long reign of terror was being repaired. Towns were being rebuilt. Schools, once closed for fear of what could happen to so many children in such an enclosed space, were being reopened. An era of peace had finally descended upon the planet.

And now all that was at risk.

Bulma rubbed her temples, reaching for the mug of tea on her desk. It had long since gone cold, but she didn't care; she desperately needed the caffeine, and wasn't about to head upstairs to brew another pot. Trunks could hardly be trusted to take care of such a task either. The boy may have been both brilliant and preposterously strong, but he was simply a disaster in the kitchen.

The problems had begun a couple of weeks before. The signs were subtle, at first—clocks skipping forward, television and radio signals becoming mixed up, satellite technology inexplicably shorting out. All phenomena that could easily be explained away.

But it wasn't long before the situation began to deteriorate. Truly bizarre occurrences were being reported across the planet. People were receiving phone calls that the person dialing could swear they had not made—but were planning on making later. Children would act far older than their ages for several minutes at a time, only to revert to their typical behavior without any memory of their uncharacteristic words and actions. Adults would regress, only to find themselves similarly unaware of their bizarre conduct when they returned to normal.

Bulma had noted the strange events taking place around her with some interest, suspicions beginning to build. The gears in her mind were turning, but it certainly didn't appear to be a crisis. At least, not yet.

Soon enough, these issues were manifesting themselves far more dramatically. Witnesses to armed standoffs claimed to have seen men dying from gunshots seconds before the bullet had been fired. The major local newspaper had printed a story about a car crash that would not take place for several hours, in excruciating detail and with complete accuracy.

The problem could no longer be ignored. Which was why Bulma had, despite Trunks' protests and offers of assistance, been locked in her lab for the past three days. Every simulation she completed, and every compilation she ran, led her to the same horrifying conclusion.

The time stream itself had become destabilized.

Bulma had spent nearly ten years developing and perfecting her time machine. Even Trunks' final return from the past had not ended her tinkering. She had made the time machine's controls more sophisticated and precise, all while making it more energy efficient. If her calculations were correct—and they always were—the machine should be able to make two, perhaps even three, round trips prior to being refueled.

This all, of course, took an enormous amount of research. She had contacted the most brilliant physicists on the planet, learning all she could about the potential to manipulate space-time. In doing so, she had gleaned a great deal of information about the time stream.

She found out, for instance, that magical energy—something about which she, as a scientist, understood very little—could interfere with the timeline, possibly having some destabilizing effects. The major source of magical energy on planet Earth, as far as she knew, had been the Dragonballs. Those had long since turned to stone; Piccolo's death all those years ago had sealed their fate.

Bulma sighed to herself sadly. She wished for what must have been the thousandth time that she had managed to save her space pods from the androids' many rampages. Perhaps, if she were able to retrieve the coordinates for New Namek, those ships could have taken her to the last remaining set of Dragonballs. If she could somehow access Porunga, she would be able to revive Shenlong and, with the Earth's dragon, bring back all their fallen comrades.

Vegeta, _her_ Vegeta, could see the incredible warrior his "half-breed" son had become.

But such thoughts were useless. Her most sophisticated spacecrafts could not make the journey to the Namekians' home world; neither she nor her father had ever been able to match the Saiyan technology that had first brought both Vegeta and Goku to this planet.

Her wishes were an exercise in futility.

Bulma shook her head, forcing herself to take another sip of the chilly tea and turning her attention back to her computer screens.

The point was, the primary source of magical energy that she could think of was long-gone. When she had shared her thoughts with her son, Trunks responded that there could be some other source hidden on the planet somewhere. Bulma thought that was unlikely. In any event, she had no idea how she could trace such a thing.

There was another possibility. She knew that, by sending Trunks back in time, she had effectively fractured the time stream. Given what Trunks had told her about Cell and Dr. Gero's other creations, it seemed that yet more timelines had splintered off. That, rather than some outside influence, could have been an aggravating factor, if not the cause.

Of course, this was all guesswork.

Bulma let out a weary sigh, plugging in another set of data and allowing the simulations to run. She couldn't help but wonder if she hadn't put her whole world at risk, all in the vague hope of finally eliminating those damn androids.

_No_, Bulma thought to herself, refusing to become distracted by those traitorous, guilt-ridden musings. She had done what she thought was right, and it was only in the past year that anything resembling freedom had graced the planet.

_A life of fear is worse than no life at all_. The thought came unbidden, but she couldn't deny its truth. She understood now what had driven warrior after warrior to sacrifice himself in an unwinnable battle so long ago.

But her world was being rebuilt, now, and it was worth saving.

Bulma was at her wit's end. Scientific research was never easy, but for the first time in her life, she truly didn't know where to begin.

She glanced back toward the long counter at the other side of her basement laboratory. There sat the small capsule that contained her ever-improving time machine. Despite the fact that she had come up with numerous upgrades over the past year, she had fervently hoped she wouldn't have to use it.

This was a huge risk. She knew that she could actually be contributing to the problem by orchestrating yet another journey into the past.

Though she felt increasingly like a hamster in a wheel, she would continue her research in the present. Meanwhile, her son would have to look for clues in the past. Perhaps he could get her father's—and her own younger counterpart's—help.

A cold feeling sank to the pit of her stomach. She would have to put her own eighteen-year-old son in harm's way yet again. It wasn't that he wouldn't go willingly, enthusiastically even. No, the teenager's unflinching bravery just made this all the more painful.

Trunks had given more than enough. Yet she would have to ask her boy to once more return to the reality that he had helped preserve, that was everything their own world could never again be.

She finally rose from her desk chair, striding across the room and grabbing the small capsule. She swiftly climbed the stairs to the house's main floor, opening the door. She slipped outside into the warm, sunlit afternoon. Beyond her backyard, she could hear the whirr of tractors working on yet another construction, or perhaps _re_construction, project.

Bulma unclenched her long, slender fingers, once again taking in the sight of the tiny capsule. After a moment's hesitation, she pressed down on the small button at the top, tossing it to the ground as it expanded into her revolutionary device. Scrawled on the side in black spraypaint sat her paltry attempt at inspiration.

_"HOPE"_

She turned back inside. Her son had been in his room, more than likely preparing for his next foray into the past. As her own timeline continued to flicker, she couldn't help but wonder if he would make it back this time around.

The grinding and cracking of new earth being broken echoed down the block. She could make out the sound of laughter around the front of her house; children were playing outside, no longer haunted by the ever-present possibility of an android assault.

Some risks were worth taking.


	2. Destination Override

**Percussion****  
Chapter 1**

**Destination Override **

* * *

"Are you _sure_ you have everything?"

Trunks sighed wearily, answering the query for what must have been the fifth time as he shielded his eyes from the bright sunlight that shone in his face. "Yes, I'm sure." He turned away from his mother, climbing into the metallic, egg-shaped craft.

Next to him lay a small satchel. It contained a set of files, as well as a data disc with a far more extensive collection of information. Bulma had made sure to reformat the disc, ensuring that it could be read by the computers available seventeen years in the past.

Trunks had looked through the simple text document that contained a summary of the most important discoveries his mother had made. Each was cross-referenced to a host of other files. He'd gleaned some of the most important points, having looked through a summary of the evidence Bulma had gathered and the host of possible explanations for the problems. That seemed straightforward enough—Trunks knew he needed to remain on the lookout for any time-related disturbances, along with any scientific meddling with the time stream and potential sources of magical interference.

The more detailed explanations, as well as the numerous lists of calculations and pieces of seemingly free-floating data, went straight over the teenager's head. He may have had a natural knack for science, but nothing could make up for Bulma's decades of experience in advanced tech development.

Trunks removed his sheathed sword from his back, setting it down as he slipped into the control seat. He didn't really _need_ the sword, but he had always been more comfortable fighting with than without it.

One thing the teen had come to realize was that craftsmanship was as much a science as an art. His mother had made the sword for him in her lab when he was fifteen. It had been an unusual gift, but an incredibly useful one. It had been made with such scientific precision—the weight, balance, and heft had all been perfect.

Few moments in his admittedly young life had filled him with the same shock as when his first sword had been destroyed. Bulma had surprised him when she replaced the destroyed sword following his return to the future. If he had not seen his old sword broken in his fight with Android 18, he honestly wouldn't have known the difference.

"Now, are you _absolutely sure—"_

"_Yes_, mother." Trunks cut Bulma off. His somewhat harsh tone was softened by the smile he gave her. "I'm ready to go."

Bulma nodded, looking up at her son as he arranged himself in the time machine. "Make sure no one sees you land. Capsulize the time machine as soon as you get in."

"Right."

"And don't do anything reckless! We can't risk destabilizing the time stream any further."

Trunks couldn't help rolling his eyes at that. "I _know_. It hasn't been that long since I last did this, remember?" That much was true. It had been less than a year since he had returned from the past for what he had thought would be the last time.

"Yeah." Bulma sighed sadly. "Hopefully you won't be gone as long this time."

"I'll be fine," Trunks responded with authority. He spoke with far more certainty than he actually felt. The teenager's nerves were completely on edge—he knew how greatly the other timeline had diverged from his own, and had no idea what ripple effects might spring forth from one more voyage in the time machine. The truth was, he didn't know how much good yet another trek through time would do.

He quickly cast those doubts aside. There was no time for anxiety and second thoughts. Trunks and his mother had run out of options; failing to act could have far more ruinous consequences than taking this chance.

"I'll be back soon." He pressed the large yellow button on the panel to his right, closing the machine's glass top.

The teenager frowned as he attempted to sort though his thoughts. This mission would be very different from his last trip into the past. Then, he'd had a particular goal, and could take direct action. Now, he could do no more than search for clues, hopefully rooting out the source of the temporal instability.

Trunks plugged in the appropriate date and spatial coordinates. This would land him only a few months following his last departure from the past. With that, he activated the machine.

Trunks instantly felt the familiar, unpleasant twisting in his gut that always accompanied time travel. It wasn't painful, exactly—just strange and uncomfortable. Moments later, the world around him faded to black.

_Here goes nothing . . ._

* * *

The machine landed with a soft _thud_ on the barren land below. The midday sun beat down on the desert as Trunks climbed out of the vehicle, quickly capsulizing it.

Trunks reached into the small satchel he had brought with him, digging around for a capsule holder. It took about a minute of searching for the teen to realize that he had forgotten to bring one.

_Damn_. Trunks silently swore, wondering how he could have forgotten something so basic. This was an inauspicious start to his journey. He slipped the capsule into his jacket pocket, making sure it was safely tucked away. It would have to do for now. He could borrow a canister once he arrived at Capsule Corp.

Trunks rubbed his upper arms, running his hands along the thin material of his purple Capsule Corp jacket. Despite the bright sunshine, it was fairly chilly out. Trunks mentally cursed himself once more for his carelessness. The teenager had known he would be landing in December, but hadn't thought to bring a thicker coat.

Still, these were minor details. Trunks had a job to take care of, and he knew this fretting was nothing more than procrastination. Without further delay, he closed his eyes, sensing the nearest center of human activity.

It only took a few moments for him to feel out West City's location. His blue eyes snapped back open. He foisted his sheathed sword and small backpack onto his back before taking off.

The flight to West City was uneventful enough. Trunks jetted through the brisk air of early winter. The coldness was surprisingly refreshing, and the anxieties and doubts that had preyed on Trunks' mind seemed to recede into the background. Trunks quickly came upon the edge of the city limits. He flew higher, hoping to avoid being seen by the city's residents. The last thing the boy needed was to be stopped by local news reporters or amateur photographers, demanding to know what new technology there was that allowed a man to fly.

As he approached the city center, Trunks landed discreetly behind a parked van. Though the city streets were a fair bit busier than they had been in his own time, the general layout of the city was no different. He briskly walked down the bustling thoroughfare, ever conscious of the confused stares of passers-by. He supposed a teenage boy wandering down the sidewalk with a broadsword strapped to his back _was_ a fairly unusual sight.

Trunks felt a small smile tug at the corners of his lips as he walked in the direction of Capsule Corp. The city center was lively and crowded, bearing little resemblance to the damaged infrastructure still under repairs in his own time. Men in three-piece suits hurried down the street, clutching briefcases and compulsively checking their watches. Shoppers wandered into and out of various shops and boutiques. Months after Cell's defeat, a sense of normalcy had returned to this world. People were attending to their business and generally carrying on with their daily lives, all without fear or uncertainty.

Not only did that mean his previous mission to the past was a rousing victory, but it indicated that the time machine had successfully taken him to the proper timeline.

As Trunks rounded a corner, something flickered past the edge of his vision, giving him pause. He turned to see a news ticker mounted along one of the large office buildings, flashing with the latest headlines. But it wasn't the content of the scrolling news stories that caught his attention.

Posted between each news blurb was the date. _9 Dec. 776._ Trunks blinked in confusion; had he misread it? He waited a few seconds for the next headline to scroll by. Sure enough, the date appeared again. _9 Dec. 776._

Trunks tilted his head to one side, frowning at the building. That made no sense. The day and month were correct, but Trunks was certain he'd set the time machine to land in 766.

"It has to be a glitch," Trunks murmured aloud, still looking intently at the news ticker. He stared down the scrolling red letters, as if expecting a response from the building. Yes, that had to be the reason. He couldn't possibly have landed more than ten years after his last trip into the past.

A passer-by shoved Trunks out of the way, unmindful of the boy's confusion and apprehension. That pulled Trunks back into awareness of his surroundings. Trunks shuffled to one side, trying to avoid further run-ins. As he moved to the edge of the sidewalk, he spotted a newsstand at the end of the block. Trunks broke into a run, narrowly avoiding barreling into several pedestrians. He paid no mind to the curses hurled in his direction, and was at the stand within seconds.

He grabbed the first periodical within reach. Trunks ignored the magazine's glossy, printed words and the bright photos on the cover. Instead, his eyes remaining fixed on the small text in the upper right-hand corner.

'December 776 Issue.'

Trunks' eyes went wide as the reality of the situation hit him. He had landed a full ten years after he'd meant to. Trunks pursed his lips as he focused in on the printed year, willing it to change. He had been extremely careful in plugging in the date of his arrival. How could things have gone so wrong?

"You gonna buy that paper or what?" The newsstand proprietor, a portly, bald man likely in his fifties, interrupted Trunks' thoughts. Trunks startled; for the second time in as many minutes, he had become so lost in his thoughts that he had been completely oblivious to his surroundings. The demi-Saiyan didn't usually display such carelessness.

"Uh, right. Sorry." Trunks dug into his pant pocket, pulling out a 500 zeni bill and planting it on the counter. He didn't wait to receive his change, instead shoving the magazine in his bag and moving on his way.

Trunks ducked around the next corner, planting himself on a public bench. The teenager pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting the pressure that was building behind his eyes and under his temple. He needed a few minutes to think.

None of the possible explanations were particularly pleasant. It was possible that the time machine had malfunctioned. If the problem did in fact lay with his transport, then it meant he might not be able to make it back home. There was also the possibility that the time stream had been so damaged that time-travel, once relatively reliable, could no longer take place with any reliability or safety. If that was the case, it meant things had gotten much worse much more quickly than he and his mother had originally thought.

"Okay, Trunks, don't panic," he said in a quiet murmur to himself. He could try traveling ten years into the past—the time machine still had a fair amount of charge left in its reservoirs—but that could just get him stranded in another time period. No, it was safer and wiser to just stay put, at least for the time being.

He may have landed in the wrong time, but at least he was in the right place. Given that there were no signs of the destruction caused by the androids, he was definitely in the correct timeline. Though he wasn't as far in the past as he'd intended, he had still moved nearly a decade back in time. Hopefully, that would be enough to give him the opportunity to fix what had been so broken.

Trunks shook his head as he stood, a plan in mind. He replaced his small backpack and resumed walking in the direction of Capsule Corp.

* * *

Bulma leaned back and stretched, setting the small stack of papers back down upon the kitchen table. She normally didn't work in here, but after days of being holed up in either her home office or her lab, she needed the change of scenery.

Bulma was getting cabin fever. She couldn't wait until the construction of the new corporate headquarters downtown was finally complete. The project had been delayed enough as it was, and was long overdue. Ever since Bulma had taken over Capsule Corporation's presidency, the company had undergone slow but rather dramatic growth. Dr. Briefs may have been a brilliant inventor, but he just didn't have Bulma's knack for business.

As it was, her staff was scattered through various office buildings in West City. Hopefully, once the skyscraper was complete, all of Capsule Corp's operations could be centralized. While the upper floors would hold the offices and conference rooms, all the various laboratories would be housed on the lower levels.

Though she had hosts of scientists and engineers at her disposal, Bulma still insisted on keeping work on the most important contracts within the family. Which was why she'd spent the better part of the morning looking through the latest defense contract, which consisted primarily of commissions for laser-guided weaponry.

She stood and refilled her porcelain cup at the high end cappuccino machine on the counter. The espresso blended with the steamed milk to create a pleasant light-brown color, before the freshly foamed milk filled the cup to the top. She was going to take a quick break before going over the order details and sending it down to the weaponry division of her research-and-development branch.

Bulma smiled to herself. Weapons design at Capsule Corp had seen an especially massive expansion over the past two years. The company had a certain Saiyan prince to thank for that particular development.

She took a sip of her piping hot drink, leaning back against the high counter. It had only been in the past two years that her husband had been working for Capsule Corp. Bulma chuckled a bit, remembering how it had started.

Vegeta had burst in on her, demanding that she once again upgrade his array of training bots. Bulma, however, had not been in the mood to be accommodating—her latest project had her utterly stumped, and her patience had already worn thin.

_Vegeta rolled his eyes, thoroughly unsympathetic to his wife's frustration. "Can't your tinkering wait? I just need you to make the damn robots a bit faster."_

_Bulma whirled in her rotating chair, jutting out her lip and glaring at her mate. Vegeta, wisely, chose not to laugh at the admittedly comical expression._

_"No, my 'tinkering' cannot wait!" Bulma spat, using her index and middle fingers to render quotes in the air. "I've been running simulations on these dual barrel rail guns all day, and I'm still getting too much recoil!"_

_Vegeta pursed his lips, leaning toward Bulma's desk to look at her computer screen. He looked keenly at the array of numbers, charts and calculations that covered the large monitor. _

_Bulma continued to glare daggers at her husband. "What are you looking at?"_

_"What are these figures here?" Vegeta responded to her question with another question. She turned back to see Vegeta's finger pressed against her computer screen._

_"Those are the force vectors of the two individual barrels." Bulma swatted Vegeta's hand away irritably. "And don't get smudges on my screen."_

_Vegeta ignored her, placing his finger atop another line of data. "And this?"_

_"That's the expected force of the two barrels when activated at the same time." Bulma explained. Her glower softened into more of a confused frown. "Why?"_

_Vegeta suddenly laughed. Bulma quirked an eyebrow at the unexpected reaction. It was a startling, almost mocking sound. Though his laugh was not entirely unpleasant, it simply left Bulma more irritated. What could possibly be so funny?_

_"Woman," Vegeta bit out between chuckles, "is it possible you're actually this big a fool?"_

_"What are you talking about?" Her question came out sounding more perplexed than annoyed. _

_"The figures in these projections here. You have them added together."_

_Now it was Bulma's turned to roll her eyes. "Yes, I know that. I'm the one who wrote it out." Vegeta's command of the obvious was legendary._

_Vegeta faced Bulma again, a self-satisfied smirk upon his face. "The power levels are supposed to be multiplicative, not additive."_

_Bulma's eyes widened for a moment before she raised one hand, loudly smacking herself on the forehead. Muttering a string of curses, she reached over to her keyboard, making the necessary adjustments. It had been a long week—that was the only possible explanation for her making such an obvious mistake. _

_She quickly altered the calculations in the computer program, downgrading the electric charge of each individual barrel before running the simulation again. Sure enough, the problem appeared to be fixed._

_"It's working!" Her mood instantly lightened, she pulled her surprised husband into a tight hug. The embrace was rather awkward, both because Bulma was still sitting while Vegeta was standing, and because the Saiyan's posture had gone quite stiff._

_"Yes, yes, _now_ will you fix my robots?" Vegeta clenched his fingers into tight fists, indicating his displeasure at this sudden contact. Though Vegeta had become far more accustomed to such physical displays of affection over the years, he still didn't like being caught off-guard with them. _

_"First thing in the morning, I promise." Bulma finally let Vegeta go. Though the man could easily have escaped her grasp had he wanted, Bulma knew that he was more than a little hesitant to use physical force against her—and was quite willing to take advantage of that fact. _

_Bulma had to satisfy her curiosity. "How could you possibly know what the problem was?"_

_"Do you forget where I come from? I've been exposed to some of the most sophisticated weapons technology in the known universe. Did you really think the Saiyan Prince would grow up without some understanding of advanced weapons mechanics?" Vegeta shook his head. "Which shouldn't even be necessary in calculations such as this. It's barely more than basic arithmetic." Vegeta let out a small puff of air in exasperation. "Honestly, how do you get your shoes on in the morning?"_

_Bulma ignored the insults and pressed forward. "You don't fight with weapons."_

_"No," Vegeta shook his head, "but Frieza's bases and ships were well-equipped." The banality in his tone suggested that he thought he was stating the obvious._

_Bulma grinned widely, the gears in her head visibly turning._

Vegeta had resisted at first, but after no small amount of cajoling, bribing and threatening, Bulma had gotten him on board with the idea of working in Capsule Corp's as a weapons developer.

Bulma had known even at the time that it was likely ill-advised. After all, her husband was a bit prone to obsession. In retrospect, getting him fixated on the intricacies of weapons design was probably not the wisest course of action. But Bulma couldn't deny that the man was good at what he did.

Besides, Bulma was in favor of anything that meant spending less time repairing damage to the Gravity Room.

Still clutching her coffee cup, Bulma moved back toward the large, metallic table at the center of the kitchen. Before she could resume going over the details of the contract, she was interrupted by the distinctive ringing of her doorbell.

_Who could that be?_ she wondered. It was early Thursday afternoon, an odd time of day for visitors, and she wasn't expecting any deliveries. She prepared her best scowl; it was more than likely another door-to-door salesman. The woman had had more than her fair share of run-ins with those wandering merchants. She may have been an avid shopper, but not once had she seen a product carried by these men that she actually wanted to purchase.

Bulma would never understand why anyone would buy a combination dog treadmill and coffee grinder.

She strode down the hallway, ready to make the hapless peddler of wares cry, or at least seriously consider a career change. Her biting remarks about the salesman's job, self-worth, and likely physical assets died on her lips as she opened the door.

Her eyes widened as she found a purple-haired teenager standing before her doorway. Both she and the visitor stood in silence as Bulma registered the logo upon the purple jacket and the familiar face. Realization hit her all at once.

"Trunks!" A grin broke out over her face. "Kami, it's really you!" Before Trunks could return the greeting, Bulma lunged at him, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Hello, mother." Trunks squeezed back gently as Bulma reached up, digging her fingers into the boy's ponytailed hair.

Bulma released the embrace after a few moments. "It's been a long time." She looked the teenager up and down, her blue eyes taking in his young face and slim, muscular physique. He didn't look much older than the last time she had seen him, more than a decade before. "Though it seems like more for me than for you. How have you been?"

"Mother." Trunks' serious tone cut off any small talk. A deep concern was plainly visible in his eyes, and his lips were pressed into a thin line. "We've got a serious problem on our hands."

A worried frown settled on Bulma's face. The happiness she had felt at seeing the teenager quickly gave way to nervousness. His last arrival in the past, after all, had brought with it catastrophic news. Whatever had brought the teenager into this time period, it couldn't have been good.

Bulma stepped to one side to allow Trunks through. "Please, come inside and tell me what's going on."

Trunks took a deep breath as he stepped through the threshold of this larger, far more luxurious version of his own home.

"Where do I begin?"

* * *

Bulma had not aged much over the years, but the changes were nonetheless visible. Her hair was shorter and more businesslike, a marked contrast from the longer, younger-looking style Trunks had last seen her sporting. The faintest of crow's feet lined her eyes and she listened attentively to Trunks' words, her brow furrowed in concentration.

Trunks repeated everything he had learned, giving Bulma the small data disc and the files he had brought. It was only once Trunks had finished speaking that Bulma responded.

Bulma stared at the reflective disc that now lay in her palm. "This is a lot to take in, Trunks."

Trunks nodded sympathetically. "I know it is." He had thrown a great deal of information at Bulma in one go. Though he understood that she would need time to fully process all the news he had given her, he had to press forward.

"So you haven't seen any similar disturbances here?"

Bulma shook her head slowly. "Not at all."

_Great,_ Trunks thought,_ another dead end._ The time-traveler realized that he shouldn't have been surprised; this had been a shot in the dark anyway. He had originally planned on staying in the past to figure out what the problem was, but in the absence of any apparent problems time stream, there was little his presence here was likely to accomplish. If things seemed to be perfectly stable in this timeline, it might be best to return home.

Trunks decided to say as much aloud. "In that case, maybe I should be heading back. My mother . . . uh, _you_, will probably need my help."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Bulma said, looking up from the metallic disc and once more making eye contact with her eighteen-year-old son. "You meant to land ten years ago, and you ended up here and now. Who knows where—or, more to the point, _when_—you might end up if you try it again?"

Bulma set down the disc on the coffee table and picked up the thick file Trunks had handed her. "Besides, it's entirely possible that your trips through time are actually contributing to the problem." She flipped through the first few pages as she spoke. "It's best if you wait here while we figure out what's going on."

Trunks' confusion was evident as he responded. "But you just said that you hadn't had any similar problems here."

"And, as far as I know, we haven't. But we still might be able to isolate the problem from here."

Trunks looked away, another concern coming to mind. "I can't just leave my mother to handle this alone in the future."

Bulma looked up from the file, her facial features etched with sympathy. "Trunks, I really don't see any other option." She spoke gently, but firmly. "If you try time travel right now, you could just end up making things worse."

"So I'm stuck here?"

Bulma cocked an eyebrow. "Would that really be so bad?"

"Yes. No. I don't know, not for me, I suppose." Trunks fiddled with his fingers in an uncharacteristic display of awkwardness. "But . . . in my world, I'm all Mother has left. I have to find a way back."

Bulma smiled gently. It was hard not to be touched by how devoted the teenager was to what remained of his family.

"And you will. As soon as I can get a handle on what's going on and we're sure it's safe for you to go. You won't be doing anyone any favors if you manage to get lost in time."

Trunks shifted his gaze to his feet. He was not usually one to just sit around and wait. He had spent all too long doing that in the future.

Bulma seemed to read his thoughts. "Look, I'm sure I could use some of your help in the lab. After all, you're our link to the other timeline."

Trunks nodded in agreement. That, at least, was a constant between timelines—his mother was usually right about these things.

Bulma stood and gathered the stack of papers, as well as the data disc, in one arm. She gestured with the other arm for the teenager to follow her. Trunks rose from his chair, his thoughts racing. His future was again in danger, and once more he hoped that the solution lay in the past. But this time, he had no plan of attack, no hidden agenda, and no idea where to begin looking for answers.

His years of training, all his experience in battle, was useless here. Despite all his strength, as he followed his mother into the corridor, Trunks felt helpless.


	3. Reintroductions

**Percussion  
****Chapter 2**

**Reintroductions  
**

* * *

Much to Trunks' surprise, Bulma did not lead him into her laboratory. Rather, she quickly took him down the hall into her home office. She sat down at her large mahogany desk, setting the paper files to one side and slipping the data disk into her computer. She gestured to Trunks to take a seat in one of the spare rolling chairs. He did so, pulling his chair up to his mother's desk and looking on as she worked.

Without a word, Bulma began downloading the data, copying it to her computer's hard drive. After a routine virus scan, the newly-copied folder opened, displaying the hundreds of files that had been burned onto the disc. She frowned in concentration as she scanned over the first few files. Trunks wasn't sure what it was she was looking for, but he would not have been much help anyway. Every file was indexed and cross-referenced to a host of others, and Trunks couldn't possibly remember what piece of data was located where. If Bulma knew what she wanted to find, any attempts on Trunks' part to help would just waste her time.

Trunks pulled his gaze away from the glowing screen and looked around the room. Bulma's personal office was massive, brightly lit and hexagonal in shape. Bay windows along one wall allowed sunlight to shine through the room. Bookshelves and file cabinets lined the remaining walls, each shelf and drawer filled with folders and labeled with a series of letters and numbers. Trunks could not decipher whatever code his mother was using to organize her paperwork, but he supposed it must have made sense to her.

The large, neat, luxurious office stood in sharp contrast to the laboratory where his timeline's Bulma spent most of her days. Back in Trunks' own world, Capsule Corp had been more a base of operations than anything else. All other projects had taken a backseat to his mother's goal of successfully constructing a time machine, and it had taken years for that project to come to fruition.

Bulma's office here made it that much clearer how different things had turned out in this timeline. In this world, Capsule Corporation was just that—a corporation. It was, above all else, a business.

And, from the looks of it, a very successful one.

Bulma was still staring intently at her computer screen, scrolling through megabytes of data at a time. Her expression looked more and more vexed as the minutes dragged on, and she was obviously struggling to keep all this new data straight. It was more than a little frustrating for Trunks, being completely unable to help.

Trunks stood up from his wheeled chair, suddenly feeling antsy. Without thinking, he stepped away from the desk and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. His right hand brushed along something cold and smooth in his pocket.

Of course. The time machine. True, it wasn't likely to get damaged, but if Trunks was going to be stuck in this timeline for an indefinite period, he figured he'd rather err on the side of caution.

"Mother?" He spoke up, interrupting Bulma's thoughts. "I forgot to bring a capsule canister. Do you have an extra one I can borrow?"

"Huh?" the woman said, looking startled. Trunks wouldn't have been surprised if she had forgotten he was in the room altogether.

She craned her head around, not moving from her position in her chair. She blinked twice, as if belatedly processing Trunks' words.

"Oh, sure," she responded after a few seconds. "Right here." Bulma slid open her desk drawer and began digging around. Trunks' gaze followed his mother's finely manicured hand. Just above the drawer in which Bulma was searching sat a small glass dish, filled with grey ashes and what looked like small rolls of paper.

_An ashtray?_

"Since when do you smoke?"

Bulma handed Trunks a small, brushed steel canister from the drawer before shutting it. He took the capsule holder, popping it open with one hand and placing the time machine inside. He looked back at his mother to find a sardonic smile on her face.

"You'd take up smoking too if _you_ lived with Vegeta."

Trunks slid the canister into his pocket. He smiled a bit at that; his mother had just answered a question Trunks didn't even realize he wanted to ask. Bulma and Vegeta had stayed together after all.

The smile quickly changed into a thoughtful frown. He hadn't seen or heard any trace of the stoic Saiyan since his arrival.

"Uh, where _is_ Father?"

Bulma did not answer his query right away. Instead, she glanced at her watch, glowering. She huffed as she saw the time.

"Damn those two! They've been at it for hours. Trunks _does_ have studying to do." Bulma brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes, her face set in the exasperated expression of one who had been in this position all too many times already. "Oh gods, I'm starting to sound like Chichi."

Trunks' frown deepened. What was his mother talking about?

"They've been at _what_ for hours?"

"Training in the gravity room. And of course, _I'm_ going to be the one who ends up fixing everything. Your grandfather refuses to take responsibility for the training bots anymore." Bulma sighed. "Not that I can blame him." She furrowed her eyebrows and lowered her voice in a rough impression of her father. "'He's your husband, _you_ deal with him.' Sometimes I wonder why I put up with that man."

Trunks, however, had stopped listening after Bulma's first sentence. "Father's actually training me?"

That certainly did explain things. The reinforced walls of the Gravity Room meant that it was difficult to sense energy levels from outside. Trunks had wondered for a long time what, precisely, those walls were made of. All the visible walls of the domed room were made of steel, but Trunks had no idea what other alloys lay between the two outermost layers. Finding a material that could contain such a massive _ki_ as Vegeta's couldn't have been easy.

Still, Bulma's explanation raised more questions than it answered. Though Trunks had seen a few things in his last visit that indicated that Vegeta cared—at least on some level—the idea that he would take such an active role in his son's development came as a surprise.

"Yeah," Bulma went on, "he's been training you since you were five. I thought it was a bit young, but you know how your father can be."

Trunks broke eye contact with his mother, looking back toward the door of her office.

"I thought I did."

Bulma smiled. Ditzy though she tended to act at times, she had always been quick to pick up on such things. The last time this Trunks had seen Vegeta, the man was hesitant to admit to anything but indifference and impatience toward his son. While he may still have been rather closed-off, the truth was that he had become a family man despite himself.

He was an unconventional one, but Vegeta was a reliable husband and father nonetheless.

Bulma gestured down the hall, pointing vaguely in the direction of the Gravity Room. "You can take a peek if you want. There's a small window in the door."

"Yeah, I remember that." After a moment's hesitation, Trunks strode out the door. Bulma followed after him, her pace nearly matching his.

The Gravity Room sat at the back of the house, at the far end of a wide corridor. The heavy, reinforced metal door was locked. Trunks approached the room, peaking in through the small window.

A pleasurable sense of surprise ran through Trunks as he watched. His younger self was fast—_very_ fast—and though it was clear that Vegeta was the one in control, the little Trunks was giving him one hell of a fight. The kid was a _lot_ stronger than the teenaged Trunks had been at the same age.

What really struck Trunks, though, was the obvious level of concentration Vegeta was putting into this. The Saiyan Prince didn't look the slightest bit bored, or dismissive. He was completely engaged in his son's training.

Trunks watched for a minute or two. Soon, Vegeta had Trunks pinned to the floor, apparently ending this particular training session. After having a quick word with the pinned boy—Trunks couldn't hear what they were saying—Vegeta stood, moving toward the control panel at the back of the domed chamber. The dim lights brightened as the artificial gravity turned off.

The teenager slipped away from the door, leaning against the outside wall so that the two fighters wouldn't see him as they exited. Sure enough, man and boy walked out of the door without looking back, tired and sweaty from hours of intense training.

Trunks cleared his throat, prompting both Vegeta and the eleven-year-old to stop in their tracks turn around. The look of mild confusion on the Saiyan's face soon evolved into one of utter shock. Vegeta's eyebrows nearly went straight into his pronounced widow's peak. Trunks smiled and relaxed his posture, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. Immature though it might seem, the teenager was happy to have caught his father off-guard for once.

Vegeta looked back at his wife, who just shot him a winning smile. Slowly, he turned his head back to the teenager, his expression still one of amazement. Trunks let the awkward moment drag out for a few seconds before he broke the silence.

"Long time no see, Father."

* * *

The boy landed against the curved wall of the Gravity Room with a soft _thump_. It didn't slow him down; in an instant, he had used his left arm to gain the leverage to push himself back. The next thing Vegeta knew, his son was flying at him, fist outstretched.

Vegeta blocked the blow easily, catching his son's fist in his right palm. Again, Trunks was unperturbed. The kid grabbed onto the very arm Vegeta was using to hold him in place, flipping upside down and bending backwards to kick straight at Vegeta's head. Vegeta dodged, and in the process his grip loosened just enough to allow his son to escape.

_Not bad. _The boy had, in a split second, turned a problem into an opportunity. Trunks floated for just a moment his newly acquired position above Vegeta's head, then dove at him, forcing Vegeta to duck yet again.

_Not bad at all._

Vegeta knew his son was several times stronger than he had been at the same age.

Had Frieza seen this? Was this what he had feared? Not the current generation of Saiyans, but their offspring?

It was still difficult to comprehend —the boy had been able to transform into a Super Saiyan by the time he was eight. That had been one of the biggest shocks of Vegeta's already eventful life.

Part of him had been irritated, even insulted. It made no sense. Vegeta had pushed himself for decades. The goal had consumed him; nothing else mattered.

Even Kakarrot, with his unfathomable natural talent for battle, had been pushed to the very edge of his limits before he had achieved that state. Gohan had been unbelievably young as well, but at least Kakarrot's older brat had been forced by the circumstances of Cell's arrival to devote every waking moment to training. How could it be that a mere child—even _his_ child—could have gained the skill so easily?

Yet part of Vegeta—a part he had not been willing to give voice to until all too recently—had also been proud. His son truly was the heir to his royal bloodline, even if the throne to which he would have been successor had been gone for over thirty years.

Vegeta never learned the circumstances of Trunks' initial transformation. He had never asked. If the boy chose to volunteer the story one day, that would be his choice.

Trunks tried to take advantage of the momentary lapse in Vegeta's concentration. He slipped behind Vegeta's back, coming at him with yet another kick. Unfortunately for Trunks, Vegeta's head was back in the fight in an instant.

The child was quick, but he was getting cocky. He frequently forgot that Vegeta knew every one of his moves, and this was something he'd tried before.

The surprised look on his son's face as he grabbed the boy's ankle, roughly flipping him down onto the floor, confirmed Vegeta's suspicions. Trunks had to learn that he couldn't always rely on the element of surprise, _especially_ with someone who knew his fighting style.

A split second passed, and Trunks was thoroughly pinned. Really, did the kid think he could catch his own master unaware?

Contrary to what his shrill mate may have thought, he was fully aware of the fact that he was somewhat harsh with their son. But he also knew Trunks could take it. True, a few bruises were visible on the boy's arms, but Trunks had been quite clear that his father wasn't to go easy on him.

The Saiyan Prince was more than happy to oblige.

Vegeta would not see his son fall into the same trap that Gohan had. The boy would keep up his training, regardless of how peaceful their world remained. The child would not lose touch with his Saiyan heritage.

Vegeta smirked at the irritated look on Trunks' face. The boy huffed; there was no point trying to pull out of Vegeta's grasp. He just glared, narrowing his eyes and setting his lips in a frown. Vegeta idly wondered if it was wrong to derive so much entertainment from his son's obvious annoyance.

"What the first rule of combat?" he asked, his tone much like that of a bored schoolmaster.

"Never underestimate your opponents," the child responded, as if by rote. Vegeta nodded. It was a mistake that Vegeta had made on more than one occasion.

Hopefully, it was a lesson that Trunks would never have to learn for himself.

Vegeta stood, releasing the boy from his rough grasp. Though he was far from delicate with Trunks, he did have to hold back. He wouldn't be so concerned about pulling his punches if his wife had been able to figure out how to construct a healing tank. For the thousandth time, Vegeta wished he had thought to steal a set of the blueprints from Frieza's ship. It wasn't as though they could have the guardian of Earth on standby as their personal first-aid kit, and senzu beans took a notoriously long time to grow.

Trunks stood as Vegeta turned off the artificial gravity, rubbing his sore wrists. Vegeta quickly pushed another button on the control panel, unlocking the door with a mechanical _whirr_ and a loud click. Vegeta quickly walked over to the door, opening it and leading his son outside.

Vegeta badly needed a shower. Today's session had lasted longer than Vegeta had originally intended, but that was hardly his fault. Three hours into their training, the boy had insisted he still wasn't tired. Vegeta wondered if Trunks hadn't simply said that in an effort to avoid his schoolwork for a while longer.

He heard someone clear their throat behind him. Vegeta spun around, fully expecting to see his irate wife. Bulma would probably begin to reprimand him for keeping Trunks so long, again, while Vegeta would insist that training should be a greater priority than those remedial literature lessons anyway. In the course of their argument, Trunks would probably sneak off, sparing himself the brunt of the lecture.

Really, Vegeta didn't know _where_ Trunks got his devious streak.

Just as he was about to turn around, though, he caught a flash of aqua hair at the edge of his vision. Bulma was not behind him; rather, she stood to his side, looking equal parts excited and amused. He frowned and slowly turned, wondering who could possibly be visiting at this time.

Vegeta's gaze landed on the wall behind him. Leaning against it was a slim, muscular young man with a low, purple ponytail and an enigmatic smile on his face.

His son.

* * *

College, Gohan decided, was a massive waste of time.

Alright, that wasn't fully accurate. It was absolutely a necessary step in his education, if he ever wanted to fulfill his (and, to be honest, his mother's) dream of becoming a scholar. He couldn't very well pursue a PhD without a university degree.

But the actual classes, those certainly _were_ a waste of time. After years of preparation and intense studying, Gohan had truly expected more of a challenge from his university courses.

It wasn't quite so bad with the few advanced electives he was taking. Those usually kept his attention well enough. But classes like this, the ones that made up East Keio's core curriculum, were downright painful to sit through. Gohan was bored out of mind, and had been for the better part of the semester.

"Psst." Videl elbowed him in the side. Gohan blinked; he was surprised to find the tip of his nose was pressed against the nearly blank page of his notebook. He straightened his posture quickly. Thank the gods he had statistics with Videl. She made a point of nudging him awake whenever he started to drift off, which was more often than Gohan cared to admit to. It wasn't that Gohan was afraid he would miss anything important. He just didn't think that falling asleep in the middle of class would make a particularly good impression on his professor.

Gohan quietly thanked Videl and tuned back in to what the professor—a kindly, but exceedingly boring, woman in her forties—was saying.

"And so, you can see that in this particular distribution, the probability density will increase over time..."

Gohan zoned out again. He would swear upon the Dragonballs themselves that they had gone through the exact same lesson the day before. Gohan maintained that there should have been some way to place out of these basic courses, but the university administrators would hear nothing of it. For someone whose strong suit had always been mathematics, it was absolute torture.

Videl frequently told him he was being a drama queen. He knew better than to point out that his girlfriend really wasn't in a position to be calling _anyone_ dramatic.

"Psst!" The girl nudged him again, this time more forcefully. Damn, he had started to pass out again. He nodded at Videl once more, leaning back in his chair.

Gohan chewed thoughtfully on the end of his black pen. He was in his second year of university, and though he knew he would be able to choose more electives in the coming years, the thought brought him little comfort. While Gohan was the first one to appreciate times of peace and tranquility, there was something to be said for those times he was forced to split his time between training and studying. The Great Saiyaman had apparently been _too _good at his job. Satan City's crime rate had imploded, as most criminals knew better than to set their sights on that bustling metropolis anymore. Although he and Videl sparred with some frequency, and Gohan was more than happy to provide lessons in both sensing and controlling _ki_, it just wasn't the same.

Truth be told, Gohan knew what was missing from his life. He needed a challenge.

"Psst!" Videl said again, elbowing Gohan in the ribs. He frowned at her. He hadn't been falling asleep this time. Why on earth had his girlfriend nudged him again?

Videl had an amused twinkle in her large blue eyes, and was suppressing a laugh. She bit her smiling lower lip and made a gesture with one hand, rotating her fingers around her lips in a circular motion.

Gohan raised his hand to his face. It felt oddly...slick. Almost oily. He pulled back his hand to see that his fingertips were covered with some sort of black fluid.

_Brilliant._ His pen had burst in his lips. He spat out the mutilated writing instrument, sputtering a bit, and set the leaky plastic tube on top of his notebook. It wasn't as if he as actually going to take any notes in his remaining thirty minutes of class.

He winced as he swallowed some of the bitter black liquid that had made its way into his mouth. Yeah, it was going to be one of those days.

* * *

To describe Vegeta as "stunned" would have been an understatement. It had been over ten years since he'd seen the young time-traveler, and Vegeta had honestly expected never to see him again. The teenager barely looked any older than he had the last time Vegeta had seen him. Surely some time had passed for the boy—at least enough for him to let his hair grow out—but however long it had been didn't even approach the decade that had passed in this timeline.

The teenager finally spoke, shattering the heavy silence that had fallen upon the hallway. "Long time no see, Father."

Bulma was, as usual, no help at all. She just grinned at Vegeta, her teeth as white as the ridiculous string of pearls she had around her neck. She was clearly enjoying her husband's bewilderment.

Again, silence fell upon the four of them. The child looked from the teenager to his father a few times before talking.

"The hell?"

"Language, Trunks!" Bulma scowled at the young boy. _Ah well_, Vegeta figured. At least she had joined the conversation.

"Trunks," Vegeta said, finally speaking. "Meet...you."

The boy frowned, though he seemed to process this new information relatively easily. Vegeta supposed Bulma had filled their son in about his alternate future self's journey into their timeline. After a few seconds, the eleven-year-old asked the first question that came to mind.

"Why do I have my hair long like a girl?"

Bulma burst out laughing at that. The teenager quirked a single eyebrow; that clearly wasn't the reaction he was expecting.

Vegeta raised one hand to his right temple. It didn't appear that anyone would provide any explanations until he actually _asked._

"Trunks," he said, addressing the younger boy. "Go upstairs. I think your older self and I need to have a little chat."

The child was not happy about that order. Despite his blasé attitude, it was obvious that he had a number of questions of his own. "Why can't I—"

"Just _do_ it."

The younger Trunks grumbled and stomped off, making quite a show of it. He loudly made his way down the hallway and up the stairs, stomping a bit on the upper floor for good measure. Vegeta rolled his eyes. His child could be such a..._child_ sometimes.

Vegeta looked back at the teenager, his composure having mostly returned. "Why are you here?" Astonishment notwithstanding, Vegeta was never one to mince words.

The teen's smile disappeared. A vague, uncertain concern filled Vegeta. The last time the boy had made such a trip into their timeline, he brought with him most serious news. It seemed that was the case this time around as well.

"This is going to take a little while to explain."

Vegeta nodded, letting his wife lead the both of them into the living room.

* * *

Trunks wrapped up his account of what had brought him to the present timeline, having given Vegeta much the same speech he had recited to Bulma. The teen leaned back against the rear cushion of the couch. Bulma was sitting next to him, while his father sat in the plush chair across from them. Vegeta frowned, clearly not sure what to do with this new knowledge.

Vegeta opened his mouth to offer some sort of response, but quickly shut it again, turning his head with a scowl. Trunks followed the prince's gaze toward the staircase. He quirked an eyebrow. His younger self was trying, rather unsuccessfully, to hide behind the thick banister as he listened in to the conversation.

A look of dismay crossed the young boy's face. The kid knew he was busted.

"Boy," Vegeta called over from his spot on the couch, "I told you to go upstairs."

"How come?" the young Trunks argued. "If I'm old enough to fight and train, I should be old enough to listen too!"

The teenager bit his lip, not sure how this was going to play out. He didn't have to wonder long. Before Trunks could blink, Vegeta was standing above his young son, grabbing the front collar of the boy's loose t-shirt.

"You can go to your room through your door or through the wall. Choose well."

For the first time since his arrival, the teenaged Trunks shared a look with his younger counterpart. It was clear that their father was not bluffing.

The boy pulled away from the irate Saiyan, quickly taking flight and making his way upstairs.

Vegeta once more faced his mate and older son, again looking more pensive than aggravated. He stepped back towards them, but did not sit down again.

"So what do you hope to accomplish while you're here?"

"To be honest, I'm not entirely sure," Trunks admitted. "Look for clues, I suppose. Try to figure out what's going on, and why my timeline seems to be affected while yours isn't."

"Hmm." Vegeta stroked his chin, but said nothing more. Unlike Bulma, he didn't seem to be particularly worried about this turn of events. He simply nodded at the other two before making his way up the stairway himself, presumably to take a shower.

Trunks was a bit taken aback at his father's abrupt exit. Clearly, some things had not changed in the intervening ten years. He didn't move from his spot on the couch, but turned his head to face his mother.

"Trunks is...kind of a handful, isn't he?" It was a little odd, referring to the boy by his own name.

"Yes, well, unlike you, he's been subject to eleven years of your father's influence." Bulma let out an exaggerated sigh. "I swear, that kid mastered Vegeta's scowl by the time he was three."

"They're close." It wasn't a question, but a statement. Bulma nodded, taking in the almost wistful look on the teenager's face.

The woman deftly changed the subject. "Look, Trunks, while you're here, you might as well get in some time to go visit the others. I'm sure Goku will be absolutely thrilled to see you."

_That_ got Trunks' attention. "Goku? He's alive again?"

"Oh, that's right. You wouldn't know about that, would you?"

"I thought you weren't going to wish him back."

"We didn't." Bulma paused for a moment, trying to put the tale as concisely as she could. "It's kind of a long story, but the short version is that about three years ago, this Old Kai gave his own life to Goku so that he could come back and fight a monster called Majin Buu."

Bulma shuddered at the memory of the deal that had been brokered in order to secure the Elder Kai's help. If one good thing had come out of her having to kiss the old lech, it had been Vegeta's endlessly entertaining reaction. She wondered if her husband had ever fully forgiven Goku for his part in arranging that little exchange.

Trunks, meanwhile, was shocked at the news of this new enemy. "Majin Buu? Was he more powerful than Cell?"

"A _lot_ more powerful. Part of me is still amazed that Goku and your dad were able to beat him." Bulma couldn't help but smile at the memory. Though she was not able to get her mate to divulge any details of the battle on the sacred world of the Kais, she had managed to wheedle the story out of Goku. She had never doubted Vegeta's bravery or wit, but even she had been amazed at Goku's account of the battle.

"Guess I shouldn't be, though." Bulma nodded proudly. "It makes sense that nothing could stop those two once they teamed up."

Trunks struggled to wrap his mind around this torrent of information. "Goku and my father worked _together_?"

"Wow, it has been a while." Bulma chuckled at her older son's reaction. "Sit down, sweetie, I'll tell you the whole thing." She stood up, moving toward the kitchen.

"Coffee?"

"I'm really more of a tea drinker," Trunks responded, a bit shyly.

"Done."

Forty-five minutes and three cups of tea later found Trunks more than a little taken aback. The whole story sounded almost farcical. Trunks' encounters with magic had been limited to the Dragonballs. He listened attentively as Bulma described how the diminutive, reptilian wizard scoured the planet, gathering energy from the world's strongest fighters in an attempt to raise his monster.

Majin Buu sounded equal parts terrifying and hilarious. Turning living beings into _candy _went far beyond the pale of Trunks' normal contemplation. The idea that an eons-old, pink, blubbery demon with seemingly limitless strength had lain buried beneath the earth's surface for a thousand years was, frankly, bizarre.

_Wait, a thousand years? _His timeline had diverged from this one just over a decade before. If Majin Buu had been buried underground so long ago, he should have appeared long before Trunks finally defeated the androids.

Trunks said as much, and Bulma shrugged as she responded.

"I guess without the other fighters around, Babidi wasn't able to gather the energy to awaken Buu. Who knows, that wizard might even have been killed by the androids. If he hasn't shown up by now, I would think he's not going to appear at all."

Bulma could tell that Trunks was not convinced, so she went on. "History shifted in a lot of ways, Trunks. If Buu should ever appear, you'll just have to cross that bridge when you come to it."

"Yeah." Trunks licked his lips, which suddenly felt uncomfortably dry. As much sense as his mother's words made, he couldn't completely quell his anxiety. What if Buu awoke while he was stuck in this timeline? His mother—his whole _world_—would be defenseless.

Bulma seemed to read his mind. "Hey, kid, don't worry about your mom. She's a tough cookie. Trust me, I know." The woman winked, a furtive little grin appearing on her lips. "Besides, as soon as we get these problems with the time stream figured out, we can make sure to send you back to just a few days later than when you left."

He had no idea how she always managed to do that, but at that moment, he could not have been more grateful for Bulma's maternal intuition. "Yeah, you're right."

"Of course I am." Bulma gave Trunks a cheerful grin. "I'll get one of the guest rooms set up for you. You remember the way to Mount Paozu?"

"What, now?"

"Sure, why not?"

Trunks couldn't think of an answer. So off he went.

* * *

The days were getting shorter as the winter solstice approached, so the afternoon was already winding down as Trunks arrived at his destination. It didn't take him long to find Goku. The man was, true to form, training alone outside, performing katas and manipulating his own energy with his signature combination of sheer determination and an almost careless amusement.

Trunks floated far above the older man for a few seconds, pondering how long it would be before he noticed. Less than a minute passed before the Saiyan looked up, apparently having sensed Trunks' familiar energy signal.

Goku shielded his eyes from the afternoon sun that shone behind the teenager. Though Goku did seem surprised, his expression didn't even approach the level of shock displayed by his mother or his father.

"Trunks? Is that you?" Trunks nodded a bit, landing softly on the ground. Even as the weather got colder and drier, the grass was thick and lush.

"I don't believe it!" Goku dashed up to Trunks, clapping him on the shoulder. "How have you been?"

Goku had not changed a bit, but that was to be expected. Trunks knew that adult Saiyans aged at a much slower rate than humans. Besides, Goku had spent seven of the last ten years dead—that alone meant he would not have aged nearly as much as the others. It was actually comforting. Goku still had that same grin, the same gravity-defying spiky hair, the same presence. He even wore the same orange training clothes.

That was another thing his mother had been right about. Just being _around_ Goku was reassuring. Whenever Trunks saw that man, he could genuinely feel sure that everything would work out.

"I've been fine." That was, at least, _mostly_ true. "How about you?"

"Pretty good." Goku's grin widened. "So Bulma told you I was back?"

Trunks chuckled. "I guess we just can't get rid of you."

Goku laughed at the good-natured teasing before posing the inevitable question. "I gotta ask, what are you _doing_ here?"

Trunks' face fell a bit. He really wasn't in the mood to explain the whole crisis yet again. "It's a long story. I'll fill you in later."

"Fair enough." To Trunks' relief, Goku did not press on. "Why don't you come inside?" He gestured toward the small, cozy house at the other end of the grassy field. Trunks did so, and within moments they were perched on two chairs in the Son family's living room.

They chatted for a while, Goku regaling him with stories of his time in the afterlife. Trunks just smiled and listened. It was good to hear that Goku's time in the land of the dead had been pleasant. If anyone deserved a happy ending, it was him.

"So where are Chichi and Gohan?" Trunks asked after a few minutes of recalled misadventures upon the Grand Kai's planet. Though the teenager wasn't sure he would be ready to face an adult version of his old master after all these years, his curiosity had quickly gotten the better of him.

"Oh," Goku said apologetically. "Gohan isn't around right now. He goes to a university near Satan City." Goku looked at the small clock on his living room wall. "Actually, he should be out of class by now. I could give him a call at his dorm if you want."

"Truth be told, Goku, I'd rather you didn't."

Goku gave Trunks an understanding look. "No problem. In that case, I'll get you his phone number." He grabbed a pen and a spare scrap of paper from the coffee table, quickly jotting something down. "You can call him whenever you feel ready to."

Trunks smiled gratefully as he took the slip of paper. He reached into his pocket for his capsule holder, popping it open and placed the small sheet inside for safe keeping.

"Anyway, Chichi's out buying groceries," Goku said, answering the other half of Trunks' question. "Can you stick around for dinner? I'm sure Goten would love to meet you."

"Goten?"

"My other son!" Goku grinned with pride as he said that. "He'll be ten next month."

Trunks frowned, doing the simple arithmetic in his head. "Wait, how do you have a ten-year-old?"

Goku seemed to turn a bit bashful at Trunks' query. He rubbed the back of his neck, as he was wont to do whenever he felt a bit awkward. "I, ah, kinda got Chichi pregnant in the days before the Cell Games."

Trunks laughed at Goku's childlike phrasing. "Kind of?"

As if on cue, a small bundle of energy came barreling into the living room. Trunks blinked a few times, sure that he was hallucinating. No, standing before him was what appeared to be a miniature Goku, complete with an orange _gi_ and blue undershirt.

The mini-Goku pouted in disappointment as he saw the two adults. "Oh. I thought I sensed Trunks here."

"Goten, there's someone I'd like you to meet." Goku beckoned the child over. "This is Trunks."

The little half-Saiyan's eyes widened in confusion. Not sure what else to do, Trunks stood and extended his right hand for the boy to shake.

Goten, however, just stared at the outstretched hand. He glanced up at the teenager's face before shifting his gaze to his father. Goku's eyes held a mischievous, amused gleam usually reserved for those times he would sneak Goten away from his schoolwork to train, all the while hoping (usually in vain) that Chichi would not notice.

Goten looked back up at Trunks, who still had his hand held out. It was obvious to Trunks what the boy was doing. Goten was trying to get a read on Trunks' energy signature, no doubt comparing it to that of his younger self.

The child creased his tiny brow as he spoke again.

"This is gonna get confusing."


	4. Tenuous Connections

**Percussion  
****Chapter 3**

**Tenuous Connections  
**

**

* * *

**

Trunks dug through the massive refrigerator, reaching toward the back to grab a bottle of water. He made his way back to the kitchen table and sat down, shoving aside his stack of documents in frustration.

It had been two days since Trunks had arrived in this time period, and he was already developing a sense for how things operated in the Briefs household. His father split his time between working on weapons research and development—something Trunks thought was just _asking_ for trouble—and training. Bulma's primary role had transitioned over the years from that of a scientist to that of a businesswoman, and though she still did a fair amount of inventing and researching of her own, she spent most of her days running the commercial dealings of Capsule Corporation.

Trunks' arrival threw a wrench into all that. Over the last two days, at least, his mother had delegated much of the daily business of running Capsule Corporation to lower-ranked executives. She had thrown herself into her research, trying to find some clue in the terabytes of data Trunks had brought with him from the future. Trunks had printed off hundreds of pages himself, resolving to plow through as much data as he could. Needless to say, so far, it had been bitter work. Even with the most unbroken concentration, Trunks was having trouble understanding what, exactly, he was looking at.

Trunks took a large gulp of his water and heard a pair of giggles come from down the hallway. He knew what those identical laughs meant. His young counterpart was off with Goten, no doubt getting into some sort of trouble.

Being home-schooled meant that the younger Trunks had an exceedingly flexible schedule. That did not come as a surprise to the teenager. The older boy had been home-schooled his whole life, though his studies had taken a backseat to training and fighting over the last four years.

Trunks bit his lip as he forced himself to start poring over the printed data sheets once again, his water bottle still gripped in his hand. Just as his focus was returning, however, he heard two young voices shriek. Trunks startled in his seat, spilling a few droplets of water on the table. The little screams were soon followed by a much deeper voice, growling and hurling a very creative chain of obscenities.

Trunks stood from his chair. "What on earth..."

A blue and purple streak sped into the kitchen, followed closely by an equally fast black and orange streak. Before Trunks knew what was happening, two small boys were standing behind him, each gripping one of his legs.

Trunks twisted his head around to see his younger self, along with Goten, looking positively terrified.

"Alright, _what_ is going on?" the teenager asked.

"Hide me!" responded the younger Trunks, offering no further explanation.

"What?"

"Me too, me too!" cried Goten.

Trunks raised a single eyebrow. "What am I hiding you from?"

"Just do it!" demanded both children in unison.

The teenager stepped to one side, turning to look at the two boys. "I'm not helping you hide until you tell me, one, what from, and two, _why_."

The little Trunks set his face into a fierce, irritated scowl; for just a moment, the teenager could have sworn he was looking into his father's face.

"You're no help!" The eleven-year-old turned to Goten. "Let's get out of here!" The boys ran for the hall, but fell to the ground as they slammed into the taller figure that had made its path into the doorway.

Vegeta.

The teenaged Trunks stared in amazement as he looked at his father. He was dripping wet, donning nothing but a fluffy white towel, but that wasn't what struck him about the proud Saiyan's appearance. Trunks rubbed his eyes, unsure if he was imagining the sight before him.

The boys quickly stood, looking at each other and trying to find a way out. Unfortunately, there was only one exit from the large kitchen, and Vegeta was blocking it. They shrank back, obviously fearful, and with good reason.

The teenager gaped for a few moments. "...Father?" Assuming Trunks' eyes were not deceiving him, this certainly did explain the chain of curses he had heard earlier.

Vegeta stepped fully into the kitchen, dripping water all along the white tile floor and pointedly ignoring the teenager.

"Trunks, Goten." Vegeta said, his voice even and dangerous as he addressed the two boys. "I am going to ask you this only once." He pointed at his head with his right hand, his left still gripping the towel around his waist. "Did you do this?"

The kids visibly shook in their places. That was all the confirmation Vegeta needed. The prince's calm demeanor evaporated, and even the elder Trunks jumped back as Vegeta curled his right hand into a fist and began screaming at the two children.

"You little_ idiots! _By the time I am through with you,_ YOU ARE BOTH GOING TO REGRET THE DAY YOU WERE BORN!_"If Trunks didn't know better, he would swear his father was foaming at the mouth.

The boys ran. Vegeta did not start after them, instead continuing to stand in his place in the middle of the kitchen. His right fist was shaking in rage as the man struggled to compose himself.

The tense vibrations in Vegeta's fist soon abated. He turned to Trunks, finally acknowledging his teenage son.

"Boy, if I hear so much as a guffaw from you, you will meet the same fate as the two brats." Vegeta needn't have worried. Trunks was far too stunned to laugh, even if he wanted to.

The commotion soon pulled Bulma into the room. Her high heels clacked against the tile as she entered, careful not to slip on the water that splattered the kitchen floor.

"What is going—" Bulma began to ask before she caught sight of her husband's appearance. She immediately bit her lower lip, struggling to keep a straight face.

Vegeta turned on her. "Woman, don't even _think_ about it."

"Oh," Bulma said, the corners of her lips twitching, "I wasn't going to laugh." The subtle tremor in her voice, however, quickly gave her away. Vegeta let out an incoherent growl in response.

Bulma breathed in deeply, leaning against the kitchen counter and trying to calm down. "Honey," she said, her voice saccharine sweet, "why don't you go put on some clothing? I'll, uh, figure out a way to reverse this."

Vegeta grumbled to himself a bit, but nodded. Trunks could only watch as Bulma sauntered her way out of the kitchen, followed by a very wet, very angry, very pink-haired Saiyan Prince.

* * *

Bulma had _finally_ managed to concoct a formula strong enough to remove the neon pink dye from the proud Saiyan's pitch black hair. That did not, however, prevent the man from exacting his punishment.

This was why, four-hundred and thirty-seven pushups later, the agonized cries of two children were audible even from outside the gravity room.

Trunks nursed his water bottle, still sitting in the kitchen. It had been two hours since he'd seen his father's state, but his concentration had not returned. He rubbed his temples with one hand, deep in thought. From anyone else, the boys' punishment may have seemed harsh. After all, the dye _had_ turned out to be removable, and the Saiyan's appearance was back to normal. From Vegeta, though, the consequences Goten and Trunks were facing seemed downright mild.

Strangely enough, the events of that afternoon only confirmed what Trunks had begun to suspect since his arrival. In the years since his last departure, his father had become much more open, and even..._paternal._

It was that observation alone that had Trunks even considering the request he wanted to make. After all, the last time he had made this suggestion, it had been met with hostility and derision. But—as circumstances kept reminding him—a lot had changed in the past ten years. Trunks squared his jaw and strode out of the kitchen, quickly walking down the hall in the direction of the gravity chamber. His timing was excellent; just as he rounded the corner, he saw the metal door swing open.

Out came the two boys, appearing thoroughly miserable. Trunks almost laughed at the expressions on their faces. Goten looked like he was torn between yelling and crying, while the younger Trunks just looked _angry_. Both of them were clearly exhausted, and their small, unusually developed arms hung limply at their sides. Vegeta, by contrast, had calmed down considerably. As he followed the children out of the room, Trunks could see that he was dressed in loose grey slacks and a blue shirt, and he looked downright smug.

"So," the teenager heard Vegeta say, "what have we learned today?" The prince's voice was dripping with utter satisfaction.

"That pushups are _hard,_" Goten offered. Trunks just groaned unhappily.

Vegeta roughly smacked the two boys on the backs of their heads. They both moved to rub the spots they had been hit, but they each dropped their arms in pain seconds later. The teenaged Trunks had to agree; under conditions of enhanced gravity, pushups _were_ hard.

Vegeta spoke again. "Now get out of here while I'm still in a generous mood." The boys looked at each other for a moment before obeying. The kids skirted around the older Trunks, paying the teenager no mind. Vegeta turned his head toward his older son, apparently just noticing his presence.

"What?" Vegeta asked tersely. Trunks almost chuckled, but thought better of it. Vegeta was not one for small talk; that, at least, had not changed in the slightest.

"So," Trunks began, "I'm not sure how long I'm going to be in this timeline."

"And?"

"And I figured I might as well get some training in while I'm stuck here."

Vegeta crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall outside the gravity room. "Get to the point, boy."

Trunks swallowed, a bit louder than he'd intended to. He took a deep breath before he continued.

"I was wondering if, while I'm here, you wouldn't mind sparring."

"Sparring," Vegeta repeated.

"On occasion," Trunks quickly added.

Vegeta hummed to himself, apparently thinking it over. That was a good sign; at least he wasn't rejecting Trunks' proposal straight away. Only a few seconds passed before Vegeta spoke once again.

"Under one condition."

"Condition?"

"You agree to spend some time training your idiotic younger self. The brat could use some variety in his schedule."

That surprised Trunks. He was prepared for an argument, not an immediate, albeit conditional, acceptance. He stood silently, pondering this pleasantly surprising reaction. Vegeta suddently cleared his throat, and Trunks quickly realized that his father was waiting for a response.

He perked up instantly. "Deal."

Vegeta nodded, walking around Trunks and making his own way down the hall without another word.

_That,_ thought Trunks, _was almost _too_ easy._ He shrugged, resolving not to press his luck as he made his way upstairs into the room Bulma had set up for him.

Trunks had been taken aback by the size of the so-called "guest" room. Even with a king-sized bed, large desk and chair, dresser, nightstand, and walk-in closet, the room was very spacious and uncluttered. As he stepped into the bedroom, a flash of silver in the corner of his eye caught his attention.

The capsule holder. Trunks made his way over to the dresser, picking up the metal canister. He popped open the small contraption. The time machine was, of course, still safely tucked away in there, but it was the small scrap of paper folded into one corner that he focused on. The paper on which Goku had scrawled Gohan's telephone number two days prior.

Trunks wanted to see Gohan, he really did. And he wasn't _nervous_, exactly. He was just a bit apprehensive. That was perfectly natural, Trunks reasoned. The other teenager was going to be the very likeness of his dead friend and teacher. But, no, he certainly wasn't nervous.

_Who am I kidding?_ Trunks winced in response to the voice inside his own mind.

So maybe he was a little nervous. But he knew he had already procrastinated long enough. Steeling his resolve, Trunks unfolded the slip of paper, picked up the phone on his desk, and dialed.

* * *

Gohan adjusted his backpack as he placed the key inside the lock of his door. Though the bag was not at all heavy for him, the corner of one of his textbooks was digging uncomfortably into his spine.

It had been a long morning. The university library tended to be less crowded on the weekend, so it wasn't unusual for Gohan to spend the better part of his Saturday in the library. The exception came when Videl wanted to go out, but that was an exception Gohan was more than happy to make.

Gohan finally jiggled the door open. He dropped his bag as soon as he stepped inside, plopping unceremoniously onto the couch of his room.

"Dorm" wasn't quite the right word. The scholarship students were all given subsidized housing in the form of university-owned studio apartments. While the accommodations weren't exactly luxurious, they were several steps above the dormitories available to most students. Again, Gohan was grateful that his admittedly overbearing mother had pushed him to study as hard as she had. Gohan was a natural scholar, but there was no way he would have had this opportunity without his mother's intervention.

His mother's excited reaction when she had learned that he had not only been admitted to East Keio University, but had received a full scholarship, did not surprise him in the slightest. What _did_ come as something of a shock was the level of pride his father had shown at receiving the same news. So much of their bonding over the years had come from fighting and training, and Goku had more often than not been the one to pull Gohan away from his studies. It never occurred to the demi-Saiyan that his father could be excited over his pursuit of the life of a scholar.

He should have given his dad more credit. Just because _Goku_ had devoted his life to fighting didn't mean his son would have to do the same. Of course Goku had made Gohan keep up with his training—and was doing much the same for Goten—but the Saiyan understood that his sons had grown up in a very different world than he had.

Gohan's musings were interrupted by the ringing of his telephone. He reached over to the small coffee table and picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Is this Gohan?" The voice on the other end sounded vaguely familiar, but it was difficult for Gohan to pin down.

"Yeah, it is," Gohan responded. "How can I help you?"

A pause stretched out for a few seconds. Gohan frowned, wondering if the person on the other end of the line had hung up.

"Hello?" Gohan repeated.

"Gohan," came the voice again, "it's Trunks."

"Trunks?" It did _kind of_ sound like Trunks, but the familiar voice was significantly lower and more gravelly than usual. "You sound a bit funny. Are you sick?"

Gohan heard a nervous-sounding laugh on the other end.

"Oh, gods, how do I explain this?"

Gohan was becoming more and more confused as this uncomfortable conversation dragged on. "Explain what?"

"We met several years ago. I came from the future."

Gohan's eyes widened as this new information sunk in. He nearly dropped the receiver in shock.

"Hello? Gohan?" Gohan shook his head; he hadn't even realized he'd gone quiet for so long.

"Oh, Kami, Trunks!" Gohan grinned, shock quickly giving way to excitement. "No way! How have you been? What are you doing here?"

Trunks laughed again. "Yeah, I've been getting that a lot. It's going to take a while to explain."

"Yeah, okay, sure." Gohan nodded, as if Trunks could actually see it.

"Anyway," Trunks continued, "I'm going to be here for a while. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind me stopping by some time this week?"

"Sure! Of course!"

"When's good for you?"

Gohan looked at the clock mounted on his wall. It was just after three, and he hadn't made any plans for the rest of the day.

"Are you busy now?"

"Well, no, but..." Trunks trailed off.

"Hey, if today isn't good—"

"No," Trunks cut in, "now is fine. I'll be there in about an hour."

Gohan nodded again, fully aware of how useless the gesture was.

"Great! See you then." He heard a click, indicating that Trunks had hung up.

Gohan's slow Saturday afternoon had suddenly gotten a _lot_ more interesting.

* * *

Trunks was expecting their meeting to be far more uncomfortable than it was. Once he'd arrived and capsulized the small plane he had borrowed from his mother, Gohan had quickly led him inside his small apartment, greeting him warmly and offering him a seat on the couch. They had spent the past hour catching up. Gohan had filled him in on much that had taken place over the past decade, while Trunks described the slow but substantial progress being made in rebuilding his own world. It was as relaxed and friendly an encounter as Trunks had experienced in ages.

Trunks wasn't sure where their chat had taken such a lighthearted turn, but he was not about to complain. He laughed heartily as Gohan wrapped up a particularly absurd tale, detailing a misadventure that apparently had Gohan freeing a small dinosaur from a local circus, and the subsequent fallout when the authorities thought he was kidnapping the reptile.

Gohan chuckled as well, leaning back in his chair. Trunks was pleasantly surprised by how easily the conversation was flowing. He smiled a bit as his laughter ebbed. Something his mother had mentioned was preying on his mind, and he simply _had_ to ask about it.

Trunks' smile broadened. "Gohan, just one more question."

Gohan nodded, his own chuckles quieting. "Yeah?"

Trunks paused for a moment, wondering how best to phrase his query. Finally, he decided to just spit it out.

"...The _Great Saiyaman_? Really?"

Gohan blushed slightly, looking thoroughly embarrassed. "Your mom filled you in on that, huh?"

"Yep."

"Uh...would you believe me if I said I was young and naive?"

Trunks rolled his eyes. "It was less than three years ago, Gohan."

Gohan turned a deeper shade of crimson. "So I guess I shouldn't tell you Saiyaman still makes an appearance in Satan City every once in a while."

"No," Trunks managed to bite out between chortles, "you probably shouldn't."

An easy silence fell upon the two teenagers as their laughs again died down. Gohan rose and stepped into his small galley kitchen, pouring two tall glasses of water and setting them down on his coffee table. Trunks took the glass, thanking Gohan. Gohan took a long, slow gulp as Trunks merely ran a fingertip idly along the rim.

Then came the inevitable question. "So, Trunks, why _are_ you here?"

Trunks sighed, the amusement disappearing from his face as Gohan took another sip from his glass. "The short version? The time stream has somehow become destabilized. And I'm afraid it might be _my_ fault."

Gohan's eyes widened. He coughed on his water, roughly patting his chest as he set the glass back down. "Come again?" he wheezed out.

Trunks sat back, dutifully reciting the explanation he'd already given so many times. He almost tuned out of his own words, speaking nearly from rote. After a few minutes, Trunks snapped back to attention, taking in the stunned look on Gohan's face.

"Uh, wow." It wasn't much of a response, but it was as useful as anything Trunks had heard over the last couple of days.

"So, no ideas what might be going on?" Trunks asked the question half-jokingly. It wasn't as if he actually expected the other teen to have any answers for him.

"I wish I knew what to do, Trunks. This kind of thing is _way_ out of my league." Gohan paused for a moment before his eyes widened, obviously struck with inspiration. "But I know someone who might be able to help."

Trunks' eyes brightened, an excited smile appearing on his face. "Are you serious?" He hadn't expected his half-serious query to yield any results. "Who?"

Gohan grinned. "Dende! He is the guardian of Earth, after all. If anyone is going to have some information, it's going to be him."

"Dende?" Trunks vaguely remembered the young Namek from his last trip into the past, but his interaction with the child had been limited. "Is it really appropriate for me to approach him about something like this?"

"Of course it is! Dende's an old friend. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to help, if he can." Gohan suddenly removed himself from his seat, plopping himself on the carpeted floor. "I'm going to contact Piccolo and make sure it's alright if we go up to see him. Just give me a minute." With that, Gohan quickly shifted into a meditative pose and closed his eyes. His facial muscles relaxed as he cleared his mind, attempting to contact his mentor.

Trunks watched carefully as Gohan crossed his legs on the floor. Without the distraction of friendly conversation, Trunks could no longer ignore the obvious resemblance between the nineteen-year-old before him and his old master. It had been so easy to divorce the memories of _his_ Gohan from the boy he had fought alongside against Cell. The decade that had passed in this timeline since then dramatically changed that. Though less than a year had passed for Trunks, that brave, extraordinarily powerful child had grown up.

Gohan was once again older than him.

_This_ Gohan, the one casually perched on the floor in a lotus position, was the young man Trunks remembered training him, practically _raising_ him. Certainly, he was less hardened, perhaps even a touch less driven thanks to the era of peace that had come upon this world. But these changes, though substantial, made little difference to Trunks.

The resemblance wasn't merely superficial. _Everything_ seemed the same. His hair was cut into the same set of short spikes, right down to the rebellious single bang that always hung over his face. His voice was as deep and smooth as Trunks remembered, an acute contrast to Trunks' own raspy baritone. Most strikingly, Gohan's personal _ki_ signature, though noticeably more powerful than his dead counterpart's, was unchanged.

Despite the differences between their two worlds, this Gohan still carried with him that same quiet strength.

An unexpected tension came into Trunks' chest. He thought he'd made his peace with Gohan's death, at least once he'd destroyed the androids in his own world. He'd honestly never expected to see his best friend again. And yet, sitting right before him, was that very same young warrior.

Trunks wasn't sure how long he sat on the worn couch, staring at the other teenager, but it must have been long enough for Gohan to communicate with Piccolo and get an answer. Gohan opened his eyes and stood in one fluid motion.

"Okay," Gohan said, "we're good to..." Gohan trailed off as his gaze returned to Trunks.

"Trunks, are you okay?"

Trunks nodded in response. "Why?" Trunks swallowed. His voice _did_ sound a bit strained.

"Because, well," Gohan looked away awkwardly, shuffling his feet in an oddly childlike gesture, "you're crying."

Trunks raised a hand to his right cheek. His fingers indeed came back wet. He stared at his hand, watching the glare from the overhead lights play upon the tears that glistened on his fingertips. Strange that he hadn't noticed.

"So I am."

_Fitting_. The last time he'd cried had been over four years ago, when he'd found Gohan's body. The memory was like a photograph in Trunks' mind—Gohan, lying in a puddle of muddy rainwater mixed with his own blood, his eyes still open, his body so unnaturally stiff and still—

_Not again. Please. Not now._

Trunks closed his eyes, trying to will the image away. His head sank into his hands. Despite his efforts, he knew from years of prior experience that the moment would have to pass in its own time. Attempts to fight the memory were always in vain.

Trunks remained like that for a few minutes, having no option but to allow himself to once again relive the event. He silently swore at his own vivid memory. Normally, it was a trait that served him well. At times like this, though, it felt more like a curse. His anger and disbelief felt fresh, as raw as the day he'd found his mentor's limp form.

Trunks sat still, focusing solely on getting his erratic breathing under control. The whole time, he was painfully aware of the presence of the other demi-Saiyan in the room. A while passed before the image began to recede into the back of Trunks' mind. The tightness in his chest began to fade. The burning in his eyes subsided, and the traitorous lump in his throat soon disappeared.

He took a few shuddering breaths, forcing himself to stand on slightly unsteady legs. He quickly wiped his face on the sleeve of his jacket. He was thankful to see that Gohan had looked away, apparently content to give the other teenager a few moments to compose himself in relative privacy.

"Okay," Trunks said, his voice once again sounding level. "Ready when you are."

Gohan nodded and slid open his window, thankfully making no comment about Trunks' unexpected reaction. After poking his head through and looking around for a few moments to ensure that no one could see them, he gestured to Trunks to follow him, slipped out the window, and took off. Trunks closed the window behind him as he followed.


	5. No Stone Unturned

**Percussion**  
**Chapter 4**

**No Stone Unturned**

* * *

Though Dende had been the guardian of Earth for the better part of Gohan's life now, the teenager would always think of the place as _Kami's_ lookout. The white marble platform gleamed as brightly as ever, and the lush gardens were blooming green and immaculately maintained, no doubt a product of Mr. Popo's handiwork. It was a chilly and cloudless afternoon, so the lookout appeared to be surrounded by an endless expanse of deep blue sky. Despite the sheer number of times Gohan had been to this sacred place, he had never ceased to be impressed by its grandeur.

He and Trunks had arrived at the lookout mere minutes before, and Gohan was leaning against one of the wide pillars upon the platform as Trunks gave Dende and Piccolo the same explanation he had recited to Gohan. The young guardian's eyes widened with concern as he listened, clutching his wooden staff with one hand. Piccolo simply hummed and nodded thoughtfully throughout Trunks' recitation, his arms folded across his chest all the while.

Trunks wrapped up and shoved his hands into his pockets, quietly and respectfully waiting for a response. The two Namekians looked at one another before Dende responded.

"I'm sorry, Trunks," the adolescent Namek said with no small measure of hesitation. "I haven't seen anything like that from up here."

Piccolo nodded in agreement. "Whatever issues your world is experiencing," he said, his deep voice resounding with something like worry, "seem to be isolated to your timeline."

Trunks let out a small puff of air and looked askance. "Yeah, I figured as much. I just thought it would be worth checking." He turned to Gohan, a sad smile on his features. "I guess we're back to square one, huh?" Gohan shook his head in disappointment, noting with concern the despondent look on the other teenager's face. He had, foolishly enough, been _sure_ that Dende would be able to steer them in the right direction. Of course his faith had been misplaced; given how dramatically their two timelines had diverged, there was no reason to believe that the Earth's young guardian would have any of the answers that the young time-traveler was seeking.

"I'm sorry," Dende repeated. "I promise I'll keep an eye out, but I can't make any guarantees."

"I appreciate that," Trunks said with a nod. "Thank you." He then turned politely to Piccolo. "So, how have you been lately?" Trunks said, seemingly resolved to change the subject. Gohan could understand the impulse—the situation had to be deeply frustrating for Trunks, being trapped far away from his own home and completely unable to find any answers. Any distraction from that mounting frustration, however temporary, would likely be very welcome. Despite the unfortunate circumstances, the small but genuine smile that Trunks gave Piccolo made the corners of Gohan's own lips twitch up.

"Alright," Piccolo said plainly in response. "I've been living up here for the past ten years. It's been an interesting change of scenery from the desert."

Dende nodded enthusiastically, giving the two teenaged demi-Saiyans a bright smile. "Piccolo's been a fantastic advisor."

"Don't listen to him," Piccolo interjected. "He rarely seeks _or_ needs help." Dende flushed a bit, his cheeks turning a shade darker as his deep purple blood rushed to his face. "I'm not complaining," Piccolo continued with a small smile. "It leaves a lot of time for developing new fighting techniques."

Gohan perked up with interest. "Come up with anything interesting lately?" His former teacher had always been one of the most creative fighters he knew, and Gohan was ever eager to learn anything that Piccolo was willing to teach.

"Well, there is one technique. It's a combination of a _Makankosappo_ blast and a scatter shot, but..." Piccolo trailed off for a moment, trying to gather the words. "Let's just say it's a work in progress."

"How's it coming along?"

"It's . . . well . . ." Piccolo paused, seeming uncharacteristically flustered. "Why don't I show you?" With that, the Namekian placed a hand upon Gohan's shoulder and squeezed gently.

Gohan felt a strange flash of warmth upon his shoulder; it fled as suddenly as it came. Without thinking, he blinked and looked around. He was still on Kami's lookout, but something felt very different. He felt his own power gathering in his palms, seemingly unbidden. He watched with interest as he let out a volley of small energy blasts, each consisting of a small core surrounded by a coil of pure _ki_. Each bulb of condensed power shot from his palms spreading out as if to create a small web. In an instant, however, his control over the bulbous beams was lost; Gohan felt a mild panic set in as the blasts scattered, some dissipating into the air as several others made contact with an unfortunate column, drilling through the fine marble.

Gohan blinked again as his vision cleared. There was no burned and crumbled pillar before him. There was no residual _ki_ aura surrounding him, no lingering energy resting in his palms. Instead, Piccolo was merely standing in front of him, as Trunks stared at the two of them in confusion.

Trunks turned from the other demi-Saiyan to the tall Namek and back again before speaking. "What just happened?"

Gohan spoke slowly, deeply unsettled by what had just transpired. "That's what I'd like to know." One minute, he had been engaged in calm and casual conversation; the next, it felt as though he had been transported to another moment in time entirely.

"I'd rather not destroy another column," Piccolo said nonchalantly, "so I figured I'd just transfer the memory to you."

Gohan shared another perplexed look with Trunks before returning his gaze to his mentor. "When did you learn to do that?"

"I didn't. Kami did."

"Why didn't you ever tell me you could do that?"

"I inherited several psychic abilities from Kami. I don't always have occasion to _use _them."

"Fair enough." Gohan let out a small shudder as a strange tension ran up and down his spine. "It's weird, it's like I _was_ you. I wasn't just seeing everything through your eyes. I could actually feel it, like I knew what I was doing." The thought of having his consciousness so dramatically altered left Gohan more than a little uncomfortable.

Gohan would swear that Piccolo actually smirked at his observation. "Memory transfer is interesting like that." True to form, he provided no further words of explanation.

"So what happened?" Trunks interjected, this time addressing Gohan.

Gohan smiled. "Piccolo's new technique is a little difficult to control. The first casualties were Piccolo's pride and an unfortunately placed column."

Dende, who had been standing silently with the older warriors, laughed at the description. "It took poor Mister Popo _hours_ to repair the damage. He had a lot of marble to cart around."

"Yeah," Piccolo said as he rolled his eyes upward, "we've given him a lot to put up with over the years."

Trunks glanced down at his watch suddenly, as if reminded by Dende's comment about the passage of time. He raised one eyebrow; Gohan guessed that he hadn't realized how quickly the time had passed.

"It's getting late," Trunks said. "I should probably be getting back to Capsule Corp."

"So what are you going to do now?" Gohan asked. His plan had been a total failure; they were no closer to finding the answers Trunks so desperately sought than they had been hours ago.

"Back to Plan A, I guess. Stick around, search for clues. Probably get some training in while I'm stuck here."

"Take care of yourself," Piccolo said, giving the violet-haired teenager a soft pat on the shoulder.

"Good luck," Dende added, as both Gohan and Trunks took off to make their descent back to the Earth.

"One sec," Gohan said as Trunks began to take flight. As unfortunate as the circumstances of his presence were, Gohan was eager to know how Trunks had been doing. Their earlier conversation had focused largely on the progress that had been made in Trunks' world since the androids' destruction, and though Gohan was glad to hear that the damage was being repaired, he genuinely wanted to know how the time-traveler he had known in his youth was holding up. All of their allies had been deeply concerned when they didn't hear from Trunks again following Cell's defeat. "If you've got the time, why don't you swing by my place tomorrow? We've got some catching up to do."

"Sure," Trunks replied after a moment's hesitation. "Yeah," he seemed to say more to himself than to Gohan, "that should be okay."

Gohan wondered why Trunks seemed so reluctant. He internally speculated that it may have had something to do with the reason Trunks had, without warning, broken down into silent tears back at his place in Satan City. That had been odd, seeing someone he had come to know as a tough, reserved warrior come unglued so unexpectedly. Perhaps even stranger was how suddenly Trunks had seemed to be fine again, his face betraying no hint of whatever sadness had moved him to tears mere minutes before. Gohan refrained from asking, however, and began his flight back toward his small studio apartment.

* * *

"This," Trunks said aloud, "is going nowhere."

The young time-traveler felt like he was going around in circles. He had returned to Capsule Corp from Dende's lookout deeply frustrated with his lack of progress, realizing that the mountain of files that his mother had entrusted him with was the only information he had to go on. He had given up on getting anything more accomplished around midnight the night before, and had returned to his attempts at research as soon as he'd woken up.

Trunks was sprawled on his stomach on his large bed, his head propped up on one of his hands as he read. Papers were strewn about him as he attempted to maintain some kind of order among the myriad sheets of paper. Progress that morning was, at best, slow. Trunks was gradually deciphering the complicated terminology that littered the files, but, in spite of how scientifically-inclined the teenager was, the fact remained that a large portion of the work his mother had compiled went far over his head. Certainly, much of the data was cross-referenced to appendices and glossaries, but these were of limited helpfulness. If anything, constantly shuffling between one set of folders and another had left his mind more muddled and confused than when he had started.

He was interrupted by a knock on his door. Though the noise broke his current train of thought, Trunks honestly didn't mind; he could probably stand to get away from his research for a few minutes and clear his head. Before he could say the words "come in," his door cracked open. Trunks looked up from his research to see his younger self standing awkwardly at the threshold.

Trunks gave his young counterpart a small smile as he sat up straight. "Hey, kiddo," he greeted warmly. Days following his arrival, it was still strange to see a younger version of himself running around. He bit back a chuckle; even the kid's hair was the same as his own was at the same age, parted along one side with a few spare strands sticking out, rather than neatly down the middle as the teenager's own was. "What's up?"

"So," the boy began slowly, stepping inside, "Dad says you're supposed to be training me."

"Yeah," Trunks nodded, remember the bargain he had struck less than twenty-four hours ago. "Uh, right now?"

"Yeah," little Trunks said, this time less hesitant and awkward. "I just saw him, and he told me to go 'find my neurotic counterpart' and get to training so he could get some work done."

"Neurotic?"

"His words, not mine."

The teenager chuckled. His younger self was barely eleven years old, and already had such a sardonic sensibility about him. He smiled as silence fell upon the large bedroom once again, as much of the tension between the two Trunks' had vanished.

The child peered at the teenager curiously as he stepped toward the bed, looking his older self up and down before speaking again. "Are you _really_ me?"

Trunks' smile widened. It was good to know that this was as weird for his younger self as it was for him. The boy's demeanor was so different than his own had been at the same age; it was nice to find some common ground. "More or less," Trunks answered. "An alternate version of you, anyway."

"That's a little weird."

"I know. The last time I saw you, you were just a baby. You weren't even a year old."

"Mom has a picture of you holding me somewhere. I think I was tugging on your hair."

"Yeah, I remember that." Trunks jokingly rubbed his scalp at the recollection, his smile broadening. "You had quite a grip for such a little guy." He had to bite back a laugh as the child crossed his arms, leaning forward and positively _oozing_ attitude. Bulma could say what she wanted about Vegeta's influence; it was clear that the kid got more than his fair share of his mother's mannerisms as well.

"You ought to see me now," the boy said arrogantly, tilting his chin up.

"Yeah," the teenager said, swinging his legs off the bed and standing up. He paid no mind to the few sheets of paper his movements had knocked to the floor. "I guess I should."

* * *

The first thing the teenaged Trunks had noticed was that his younger self's fighting style was very, very different from his own. The boy's moves were sharper somehow, more angular. His kicks and punches seemed to positively slice through the air. While the teenager had been taught in a manner that emphasized the dynamics of motion, the child was demonstrating a singular focus on the combat elements of martial arts. Even his stance seemed more aggressive.

The child dived for the teenager's head, a punch perfectly aimed for the older boy's nose. Trunks shifted quickly, narrowly avoiding being clocked. He had to admit that he was impressed with the kid's skill; more than once over the past hour he had been put on the defensive, despite his decisive advantage in both age and training.

The second thing the teenager had noticed was that the boy was _abnormally_ strong. Trunks had set the gravity in the room to a relatively moderate 50 G's, thinking it would be more than enough to give the kid a tough workout. But no, the child was matching him blow for blow. The teen hadn't been nearly this strong at his alternate self's age. He assumed his father's insistence on training him at a very young age had a lot to do with boy's remarkable fighting prowess.

The elder Trunks blocked another kick to his head, realizing that he didn't have to hold back nearly as much as he thought he did. He returned the blow, much harder than before. The next thing he knew, little Trunks was hurling into the domes metal walls of the gravity chamber. The boy landed with a loud _thud_ before sliding down to the floor, and the room creaked slightly under the strain.

"Oh no," Trunks said aloud, immediately feeling guilty as he powered down and moved toward the injured kid. Perhaps he had overestimated the boy's strength, or at least his training in defensive maneuvers. "Are you okay?"

The teenager felt more than saw the sudden surge of power from the child. Before he could fully register what was happening, Trunks felt all breath flee him, and his vision went dark. He gasped helplessly for a moment, more from shock than from actual pain, and gingerly wrapped his arm around his abdomen. He realized as his vision began to clear that he had landed on the wall at the opposite side of the room. That observation, however, paled in comparison to what he saw next.

The eleven-year old was standing near the center of the room, once again in sparring form. A golden aura of power surrounded him, and his once-violet hair was spiked up and platinum blonde. The boy looked at the teenager through teal-colored eyes, trying to anticipate the elder Trunks' next move.

The teen gaped for a few seconds, struggling to register what he was seeing. He blinked, using the wall to once again prop himself up into a standing position, all thoughts of training forgotten. This made absolutely no sense, but the evidence was staring him in the face. There was no denying the sight before him.

"You're..." Trunks blinked again, trying to keep from stammering. "Great _gods_, you're a Super Saiyan!"

"Uh," the child responded, not moving from his spot, "yeah?"

"What . . . I . . . you're _eleven_."

"Thanks," the younger Trunks said, slipping out of his stance and dropping his arms to his side. "I hadn't noticed."

The teen ignored the sarcastic reply. "When did this happen?"

"A couple of years back, a little after I turned eight. Goten did it a few months later, so he was younger than I was."

"Eight?" The older Trunks looked away, suddenly overtaken by a severe pounding behind his eyes. The overhead lights, though they were at a relatively low setting, now seemed all too bright. Nausea crept up in Trunks' stomach as his insides began to twist.

Trunks felt ill. He knew that, at age fourteen, he had been an exceptionally young Super Saiyan. Although this world's Gohan had been only nine, Trunks had figured that was due to the fact that the other half-Saiyan had inherited his father's unparalleled natural talents. Trunks had always assumed that he had managed to reach that legendary level as early as he possibly could have. Yet, standing before him, was undeniable proof that his body was more than capable of achieving that transformation at a far earlier age.

The gnawing in his gut intensified with a combination of guilt and horrible uncertainty. His mind began to run with useless, unanswerable questions: What if he had sought out Gohan's help in training before he had turned fourteen? Could he have stopped the androids earlier, saving countless lives from their wanton destruction? Could he have prevented Gohan's death? A thousand different hypotheticals flitted through the teenager's head, each of them leading to a disquieting conclusion.

Trunks could rationalize his delayed start all he wanted. He could tell himself that it was his mother, overprotective after all the losses she had faced, that prevented him from training and unlocking his full potential. The truth, he suddenly realized, was that he had been a frightened child, unable or unwilling to make the sacrifices necessary to give his world a fighting chance.

"Hello, earth to future boy," young Trunks said, waving one hand about and breaking into the teenager's thoughts. "What's up?"

"Nothing," the teen said, shaking his head and trying to clear those thoughts from his mind. Speculation would do no good now. "It's just that I didn't transform for the first time until I was fourteen." He looked the child up and down once more. "Unreal."

"Yeah," the kid said with a shrug, "you ought to see Dad power up."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he becomes a Super Saiyan, and then he transforms _again_. His hair actually manages to get even spikier. I think he calls it Super Saiyan Two."

The teenager immediately knew what the kid was talking about. It was a form he had only ever seen one other time in his life, but there was no mistaking the description that Trunks was offering. Somehow, over the past decade, Vegeta had become an ascended Super Saiyan.

The teen's musings were interrupted yet again, this time not by his pre-adolescent self's voice, but by a loud siren-like sound blaring through the gravity room. Red lights began to flash throughout the room, and the yellow overhead lamps abruptly shut off.

"_What the hell?!_" Trunks shouted over the sirens, covering his ears to protect them from the terrible noise that assaulted him. The younger boy did not answer, but simply ran to the control panel at the edge of the room, pressing the large red button to deactivate the gravity. Instantly, the red lights ceased their flashing, and the awful sound, mercifully, came to a halt.

"What the hell was that?" Trunks repeated, addressing the kid again.

"Alarms," the boy explained. "They go off whenever the gravity machine overheats." Young Trunks sighed, rolling his eyes upward. "Which means Mom has to recalibrate it again. She is _not_ going to be happy." He let out a puff of as he powered down from his Super Saiyan form, brushing a few purple strains out of his face with an annoyed gesture. He had obviously had to approach his mother about the same matter on more than one occasion, and was not looking forward to her irritation and the scolding that was likely to follow.

Trunks raised one hand. "I can go get her," he offered. "I need to talk to her anyway." The boy nodded as he unlocked the door to the room, and the two of them made for the exit.

"By the way," the teenager said, placing one hand on his counterpart's shoulder. "You've got a hell of a punch."

"Please," the kid said, sauntering out of the room without so much as a backwards glance. "I barely touched you."

* * *

Bulma had moved the data disk and the large file folder from her large, luxurious office to the personal laboratory in her basement. The lab was a severe contrast to the office—papers were strewn about, empty coffee cups littered the counters and table, and, because of the lack of windows, the room was not nearly as brightly lit. The woman had obviously printed scores of documents off the disk Trunks had given her, and the table at which she was sitting was as swathed with loose papers as Trunks' bed was. Trunks felt much more at ease here than he had in Bulma's hexagonal office; this messy, almost austere laboratory reminded him of his mother's lab at home.

"Hello, mother," he said, greeting her for the first time that day. They hadn't seen much of each other over the last two days, as Bulma seemed content to lock herself up in her lab while she went over the massive amount of data Trunks had brought from the future.

"Hey," she said, not turning from her computer to face her son. "You set off the alarms in the gravity room, huh?"

"Yeah," the teenager admitted. "Trunks said the gravity generator was overheated?"

"Not overheated, exactly. Some of the mechanisms used to enhance the gravity can be a bit unstable. I wanted to make sure there was a way to monitor if the room became filled with excessive radiation."

"Radiation? Isn't that dangerous?"

"No. It's terahertz radiation, which isn't dangerous in and of itself, but it can be a sign that a gravity machines are malfunctioning." She still didn't look away from her computer, scrolling down a screen that Trunks had never seen before. The numbers that flashed along the monitor rendered a greenish glow upon her features. "I'll go recalibrate it later. It can wait."

"Of course," Trunks agreed, nodding and pulling up a chair next to his mother. "I actually came to talk to you to see if you've found anything."

"Not really," Bulma replied, twisting her head and finally looking at the teenager. Trunks couldn't help but notice that her eyes looked very tired, and there were fine lines scoring the sensitive skin just above her cheekbones. "There is a _lot_ of data in here, Trunks."

"I know," he replied apologetically. He truly did feel bad for adding so much to Bulma's already massive workload, but the fact remained that much of the research was simply beyond him. "I haven't made much in the way of progress either."

"I didn't say _that_," Bulma said, swiveling her chair around and facing Trunks with her whole body. "I've learned a lot, I just don't know how useful that information _is_."

"Such as?"

"Well," she said, pointing one long-nailed finger at the screen, "a lot of, uh, _my_ research seems to indicate that the problems could arise when there are inconsistencies between the various timelines."

Trunks blinked, his breath catching in his throat. "So my time-traveling _is_ responsible for the problem?" He shook his head, his eyes widening at the possibility that his attempts to save his world had actually doomed it. A deep dread began to build in his chest; Trunks tried to swallow, but his throat suddenly felt both tight and dry.

"Not necessarily," Bulma said, placing a reassuring hand upon Trunks' arm. "The existence of an inconsistency isn't enough. There also has to be some other element, some sort of...I don't know. Destabilizing trigger."

Trunks' panic began to recede, though Bulma's statement left his curiosity piqued. "Trigger? Like what?"

"That's where I'm stuck," Bulma said, turning back to her computer screen and resuming the process of scrolling trough screens upon screens of data. "There are a couple of theories here, but there is no way to know what's correct. It could be someone intentionally manipulating the timestream, but I don't know _how_ they could do it, especially if you're in possession of the only time machine."

"So that's one theory," Trunks said with a nod. "What else?"

"It comes up a couple of times in these files that magical energy could be such a trigger, but with the Dragonballs gone from your world, I'm not sure what that source would be."

Trunks raised an eyebrow. "Might that be the problem? The fact that the Dragonballs _do_ exist here, but _don't_ exist in my world?"

"No," Bulma said, shaking her head. "See, if that were the case, your world wouldn't be the one having problems. _Ours_ would. I think the trigger, whatever it is, only destabilizes the realm it originates in."

"That makes sense," Trunks said, though there wasn't much conviction in his voice. This sounded like a lot of speculation, and while he did not doubt that his mother was vigilant in her research, he wondered just how many sources she was able to pull information from. Or how reliable those sources are.

The large digital clock mounted on the opposite wall suddenly caught Trunks' attention. He looked to his left, amazed at how much time had already passed. Between poring over the data his mother had compiled and training with his younger self, much of the day had managed to fly by without Trunks really noticing. It was already one in the afternoon.

_Ah, crap._ Trunks placed two fingers on his right temple, curing his own carelessness. This was becoming an unfortunate habit of his, losing track of time so easily. He'd meant to come to speak to his mother much sooner—he had promised to be at Gohan's place at around two. Now he would almost certainly be delayed—it was an hour's flight to East Keio University, and he felt that he should spend at least some time offering Bulma assistance, however valuable that assistance may be.

Bulma must have noticed his antsiness, because she turned away from the computer screen to address him again. "Something wrong?" She saw his fretful glances as her large clock, and raised a single aqua-colored eyebrow. "Are you running late for something?"

"I kind of promised I'd swing by Gohan's place," Trunks said hesitantly, "but if you need my help—"

"Oh, go!" Bulma said enthusiastically, cutting him off. "Trust me, if I need anything, I'll let you know."

"Are you sure?"

Bulma wagged one finger at him. "Sweetie, listen to your mother. There's no point in both of us spending the whole day locked up in here. Now get!" She pointed toward the door of her lab, shooing Trunks away. Trunks shot her a grateful smile as he left.

* * *

"So what have you been up to?"

It was an innocent question, but Trunks felt that the answer would be a bit complicated. Though Trunks had seen Gohan less than a full day before, it seemed that significantly more time had passed. Trunks idly wondered if perhaps all of his time-traveling had skewered his perception of minutes and hours, or if it was simply a product of the exhaustion and frustration brought on by his failed attempts at finding _any_ useful information. The last few days had been rough, and each scientific dead-end was more exasperating than the last. More than that, over the past day, he had learned more than he expected to about both his father's capabilities and his own. So Trunks had to think for a minute before answering Gohan's casual query.

"Not a whole lot," Trunks finally responded, albeit somewhat untruthfully. He flopped down onto Gohan's well-used sofa. "A little training. Lots of waiting. I offered to help my mom in the lab, but I don't think there's much I can do."

"Fair enough," Gohan said, joining the other demi-Saiyan on the couch. He had wanted to ask what, precisely, had caused Trunks admittedly short-lived breakdown, but now that he was actually conversing the other boy, he wasn't sure how to bring it up. He truly didn't want to pry, but his concern had been gnawing at the back of his mind for the better part of the previous day.

Before Gohan could think of a suitable way to pose the question, however, Trunks spoke up. "So," the younger boy began, "Trunks told me that my father ascended a few years back."

"Yeah, he did," Gohan said, wondering where this sudden shift in the conversation was leading them. "Not surprising."

"And Goku?"

"My dad underwent some pretty radical training in the afterlife," Gohan explained. He smiled, remembering the first time he had seen his father after his death during the Cell Games. Even considering the fact that Goku had been training nonstop for seven years, the increase in his power had been astounding. "He's actually discovered a level beyond _that_. he calls it Super Saiyan Three."

"Super Saiyan _Three?_" A thoughtful, distant expression came over Trunks' features as he gazed off toward the window at his left. "Man. I can't keep up with _any_ of you guys now."

"Hey," Gohan said, hoping he sounded more reassuring than patronizing, "we've had ten years. Sounds like you've had closer to ten months."

"I guess so." Trunks paused, drawing a deep breath. "Still. I didn't think those heights were possible."

"Yeah, that's Saiyan blood for you. Limitless potential. The longer they fight, and the fiercer the enemy—"

"The stronger they become. I know."

"Right." Gohan wasn't sure what to say next, but he did not have the time to contemplate that matter for long. There was a sharp knock on Gohan's front door, followed by the light jangling of keys. He didn't have to open the door to know who was there; Videl was the only person to whom Gohan had given a copy of his keys, and she essentially had free license to swing by at her leisure. Gohan stood from his seat, and Trunks followed suit as the door opened.

"Hey," Videl said, pushing open the door with one shoulder as she game in holding a pile of binders in both arms. She didn't look up, instead focusing on balancing the various notebooks in her arms and shutting the door with her foot. "Hope you're not busy. I brought over those notes I bor…" Videl trailed off as she looked up, seeing Trunks for the first time. "Oh, I didn't realize you had company. Hi, I'm Videl."

"Oh," Trunks said, sounding startled as he extended one hand. I'm—"

"Just a family friend who's in town!" Gohan blurted out. Videl knew the eleven-year-old Trunks; the last thing he needed was for Videl to learn about time travel and subsequently have one of her legendary freakouts. "Yep, this is, uh, Pikkon." Gohan scrambled for the first name he could think of, and came upon a name that Goku had mentioned more than once in his tales about training and fighting in the afterlife. Gohan ignored the confused look Trunks gave him

Videl moved inside and bent down to set the binders on the low coffee table. She extended her right hand—adorned, as always, with those fingerless black gloves of which she was so fond—and peered thoughtfully at Trunks. "You look kind of familiar, Pikkon."

"I . . . guess I just have one of those faces," Trunks said. It wasn't much of an explanation, but it would have to do. Gohan was relieved that Trunks was playing along, but between the long violet ponytail and his angular facial features, Gohan sincerely doubted that there were many people in the world that Trunks truly resembled.

Videl seemed to have the same thought. She pulled back her hand, looking up at Trunks' face and furrowing her eyebrows. "Uh huh," she said with unconcealed incredulity. "How long are you in town, Pikkon?"

Trunks looked at Gohan before answering. "A few weeks, I think. It's...kind of indefinite for now."

"Uh huh," Videl repeated, looking back at her boyfriend. Gohan shot her a nervous smile, causing Videl to roll her eyes as she left. "Okay, I'm going to head back to my place." She gave Gohan a pointed look before walking up to him and standing on the very tip of her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. "I'll be back later tonight," she said, and Gohan couldn't help but notice the lingering suspicion in her voice. "It was nice to meet you, _Pikkon_," she said, putting a sharp emphasis on Trunks' assumed names before exiting the apartment.

Trunks waited until the door shut behind her to speak again. "Okay, what was _that_ about? And who the hell is Pikkon?" Trunks didn't sound angry or stern so much as deeply confused.

"A friend of my father's from the otherworld," Gohan said, bearing the same nervous smile he had just given Videl. "And I'm sorry about that. She knows you as a kid. I didn't want to freak her out too much."

Trunks raised an eyebrow. "How much does she know? Does she know you're a Saiyan?"

"Oh, she knows all that. We've been dating for three years. She's met the whole gang. And she knows all about the Dragonballs."

"Gohan," Trunks said, a ghost of laugh bubbling in his voice, "if she can handle the fact that you're half-alien, and that you defeated Cell when you were nine, I think she can wrap her head around something like time travel."

Gohan sighed. "You're probably right. It's just...we were dating for a while before I filled her in on all the details. The fact that my dad was sent here as a baby, the trip to Namek, Freiza. I guess I've just been wary of piling on too much information at once."

Trunks nodded. "I can understand that." He shot Gohan a sly grin. "She's cute, man. Well done."

Gohan bit his lower lip to keep from laughing. "Yeah, you'd never know she was Mr. Satan's daughter."

Both of Trunks' eyebrows shot up into his forehead. "The 'world champion'?" Trunks used his index and middle fingers to gesture air-quotes. "The bearded _buffoon_ who spent the better part of the Cell Games making an idiot of himself? _That_ Mr. Satan?"

"That's the one," Gohan said with a smile. "All kidding aside, he's not so terrible."

"Sure." Trunks sighed to himself, sounding incredulous.

Gohan chuckled. Trunks—_this_ Trunks, anyway—didn't strike him as the kind of person who would typically insult a man behind his back. He could understand the sentiment, though. Mr. Satan may have been a decent guy once Gohan had gotten to know him, but the popular hero did not exactly make a brilliant first impression.

"He's really not a bad guy once you get to know him," Gohan insisted around a soft laugh.

"If you say so." Trunks rolled his eyes. "I'm going to assume she takes after her mother."

"I wouldn't know," Gohan said, rather solemnly. "Her mom died of a brain tumor when Videl was just a kid. I've never met her."

"Oh." Trunks looked down sadly. "I'm sorry to hear that." An uncomfortable, almost melancholy silence fell upon the two boys. Gohan wondered whether it was simply that Trunks was caught off guard by the unfortunate news, or if it were something deeper. After all, both teenagers knew what it meant to lose a parent, and how devastating that loss could be. It was an unfortunate point of commonality between Videl and the two half-Saiyans.

"But, yeah," Gohan said in a lighthearted tone, trying to restore the bright mood of their conversation. "Mr. Satan's actually a pretty nice guy. And, believe it or not, he really helped out my dad and Vegeta when they were fighting Buu."

"You're serious?" Trunks said, looking back up at Gohan.

"Well, people can surprise you. With Vegeta for a dad, I'd think you of all people would know that."

Trunks smiled a bit at that. "Yeah," he said, giving Gohan a meaningful glance. "I guess they can."

* * *

This was no ordinary game of hide-and-seek.

Trunks was eleven years old, and Goten almost ten, far too old for such simple and childish games as hide-and-seek. But this was a training exercise as much as it was a game. The young heir's father had berated him on more than one occasion for his lack of discipline and concentration, and had criticized the boy for relying too much on his eyesight and not focusing on developing his other senses and skills. The boy couldn't help it—he may have been the successor to a long line of Saiyan warriors, but he was also a child, a mischievous and easily distracted child with little interest in strict drills.

So, several months back, Trunks had come up with this game, hoping that it would keep his interest longer than rote drilling. He would hide in the woods, shielding himself within the thick brush and suppressing his _ki_. Then, for just a split second, he would raise his energy levels to rather great heights before reigning in his power once again. The other player would use these momentary spikes in power to seek out the hider, hoping to use his ability to sense energy to compensate for the lack of visibility in the dense foliage. Each round, the seeker would keep track of the time it took him to find the other boy; whoever had, at the end of the game, the fewest minutes on his timer would be declared the winner. The benefits of such a game were twofold—the hider would get practice powering up and down very quickly, as was so often necessary in battle, while the seeker could hone his skills in sensing energy on a split-second basis. Once Trunks had thought of this brilliant "game," he had shared the idea with Goten, who was completely enthusiastic about the notion of having yet another training game to engage in.

Of course, that was nothing new. Goten was always the enthusiastic sort.

Trunks allowed his power to spike quickly before suppressing it once again and running, taunting Goten with clues to his location. He could sense Goten approaching him, seeking him through the trees above. Trunks suppressed a small giggle; Goten's ability to sense energy was admittedly more honed than Trunks', but the other boy just didn't have the Briefs heir's strategic mind. Sure, Goten could _sense_ Trunks, but he couldn't _think_ like Trunks. And that was where the older boy had the advantage. He knew Goten inside out and backwards, and won the vast majority of the time they played this game.

The child grinned to himself as he ducked behind a particularly thick bush. One person he _hadn't_ been able to get such a read on was his older self. He'd never fought anyone quite like this "future Trunks," and had been pleasantly surprised to find that he actually couldn't predict the teenager's every move. The boy appreciated the change of pace. Goten had become much stronger over the past few years, but their sparring frequently fell into a familiar pattern, and more often than not their matches ended in a draw. And yes, Trunks loved training with Vegeta, but practicing with the same master day in and day out could get a bit boring.

The violet-haired boy blinked, suddenly sensing an approaching power level. He had zoned out for a few seconds there, and tuned back just a moment too late. Before he could escape, he was tackled to the dirty ground by his best friend.

Goten powered down and stood, releasing Trunks from his grip. "Two minutes," Goten said as he clicked off the stopwatch that hung around his neck. "That's my best time so far."

"I was distracted," Trunks declared, brushing himself off as he stood up. He realized immediately how harsh and dismissive his words must have sounded, and caught the crestfallen look that came across Goten's face. "Hey," he said, sounding much friendlier, "you still did good. You're _supposed_ to take advantage when your enemies get distracted." Trunks nodded with conviction, recalling the advice that his father had drilled into him since he began his training. His encouragement seemed to do the trick; Goten brightened instantly

Honestly, Goten could be so sensitive sometimes.

Trunks covered both eyes with his hands. "Are you gonna go hide or not?"

"Yeah!" Goten said. Trunks immediately felt his power level drop to the point where it was barely perceptible, even lower than a normal human's. Within seconds, Trunks couldn't feel Goten at all. He heard the crunching of fallen twigs below Goten's feet, but a moment later even that light sound disappeared from Trunks range of hearing.

Trunks smiled as he began to count to twenty. "One, two, three, four..."

Thoughts of home, of his father, and of his strange teenaged self could wait. He had a game to win.


	6. Trump Card

**Percussion  
****Chapter 5**

**Trump Card  
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* * *

**

_Left. Down. Up._

Trunks swung the blade in a perfect circle above his head, his feet firmly planted to the floor.

_Down again._

He had been training with his sword since he was fifteen. By then, his mother had come to accept the fact that her son would not give up fighting and training, and that Trunks was determined to face the androids head-on. She eventually reasoned that she would just have to give him whatever edge she could.

_Still too slow. Up._

It had not taken her long to design and make the sword. A few quick calculations, and she had determined precisely the proper weight and dimensions for the weapon. The design was not especially intricate, but it didn't need to be. The handle, though plain, was as comfortable as possible. She had replaced the sword immediately upon learning of its destruction at the hands of Android 18. Trunks' new sword was a perfect replica, indistinguishable from the original.

_Thrust. Withdraw._

Despite all his prior experience with the blade, this was proving to be more challenging than Trunks had expected. He had been in the present time period for a week, and had decided that—in the absence of much to do besides reading through the pile of research data that he had brought with him—he would take the opportunity to focus on his training. Using the sword at 150 times the Earth's normal gravity added another dimension of complexity to his training exercises.

Without missing a beat, Trunks took flight. He was now floating at the center of the room, giving him maximum mobility.

_Right. Around. Down—nngh!_

Trunks let out an irritated noise, halfway between a grunt and a yelp, as his head hit the ceiling. The sword clattered to the floor. He barely had time to stop himself before he barreled through the room entirely. It took him a moment to realize that the enhanced gravity had turned off. He looked up to find that he had managed to dent the top of the metal dome.

_So much for concentration. _He turned around as he landed, rubbing the sore top of his head with his left hand. There stood his father, leaning back nonchalantly against the frame of the door. Trunks knew it was a safety mechanism; if the door opened, the gravity generator would automatically turn off. Bulma had explained that there had once been an incident involving his younger self, Goten, and a very irate baby dinosaur. She hadn't revealed much more, only saying the near-destruction of the house had been more than enough reason to install the safety valve.

The Saiyan Prince was trying—and failing—not to look amused at his son's sudden displeasure. That wasn't surprising. What little sense of humor the man had tended to be fairly sadistic. Trunks frowned as he picked up his discarded weapon. He could have sworn he'd locked the door to the gravity room. His eagerness to practice, he supposed, must have distracted him.

Vegeta stood up straight, moving into the room and shutting the door behind him. Trunks did not move, instead allowing his father to approach him. Even when he wasn't being actively hostile, Vegeta could be oddly intimidating.

Vegeta did not look at his son, instead focusing on the blade that sat limply in the young man's hand. "Wasn't your sword destroyed?"

Trunks nodded. "Mother made me another one in her lab."

Vegeta quirked an eyebrow. "That daft woman made the original?" His voice sounded uninterested, but his face displayed a hint of genuine curiosity.

"It's apparently pretty easy compared to building space capsules and time machines."

The man's tone shifted from boredom to something resembling derision as he finally made eye contact with the teenager. "You can't possibly _need_ such a thing."

Trunks swallowed as he met the steely obsidian gaze. After all this time, his father's judgmental stare still affected him far more than he would have liked to admit.

"I guess I just like the feel of a sword in my hands." The teen did his best not to sound defensive.

Vegeta backed up a few feet and held his hand out expectantly. As per usual, an impatient frown graced the man's features. After a moment's hesitation, Trunks tossed his sword over. What could his father possibly want with it?

Vegeta caught it by the handle. He shifted his right hand under the flat of the blade, removing his left from the handle and balancing the sword on two fingers. He quickly flipped it up, catching it just above his head with his right hand and slicing into the air with a few quick strokes.

Trunks was more than surprised. In all the months he spent in the past, he had never seen his father use any sort of weapon. Yet there was no mistaking Vegeta's experience; his technique was near flawless. He appeared to get a feel for the weapon, for its weight and point of balance, almost immediately, and was wielding the sword with impressive ease.

A few more strokes and Vegeta stopped. "I have to admit," the prince said casually, "it's expertly crafted. Your mother did well."

Trunks forced himself to stop gaping. His father was, as usual, full of surprises. "Since when do you know how to use a sword?" Trunks asked, doing his best to contain the utter bewilderment in his voice.

Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Don't be an idiot. I am the prince of a warrior race." He ran his finger along the sharp edge. "I had mastered the basics by the time I was five." The man's tone softened slightly as he examined the sword's tip. "It has been a long time, but some skills you never forget." The back of his hand brushed against the narrow end with uncharacteristic delicacy. It was as if he was trying to memorize the blade's every facet through touch alone.

Without warning, Vegeta tossed the sword back to Trunks. Though startled, the teenager managed to catch it by the handle. "Royal blood, boy," Vegeta continued, raising his voice as his tone abruptly returned to its signature terseness. "It makes sense that you would be drawn to the blade."

Trunks pursed his lips, trying to hide a smile as he returned the sword to its sheath. His father had actually _volunteered_ information, albeit limited, about his heritage. Not only that, but Vegeta had pointed out a rare piece of common ground between the two of them. This was by a wide margin the closest the prince had ever come to reaching out to his teenaged son.

The man's gruff voice broke into Trunks' thoughts. "I don't have all day, brat. Do you want to spar or not?"

Trunks didn't bother to conceal his grin this time. He removed the sword and sheath from his back, setting it down next to the control panel. His father was keeping his end of their bargain after all.

"Two hundred G's?" he asked, gesturing to the panel.

Vegeta snorted. "Don't waste my time, boy. Three hundred."

Trunks nodded, plugging in the appropriate figures. A hand reached out and roughly grabbed his wrist before he could press the button to activate the gravity.

"Unless, of course, you don't think you can keep up." Trunks twisted his head to find his father staring him down, daring him to back away from the challenge.

Trunks wrested his wrist from the man's grip. The teen's sly smile stood in direct contrast to his father's scowl.

"Try me."

* * *

Bulma glowered at her computer screen, tossing a pen at the hapless piece of equipment. It bounced off the glass of the monitor, landing with surprising force on her own forehead. The blue haired woman winced and let out a loud string of swear words, cursing both her monitor and her pen to eternal damnation as she rubbed the sore spot upon which the writing utensil had landed.

She was not having a good day.

It had been a full week since her future son's arrival, and she had gone through every bit of data he had presented to her. She had learned a lot, and had gotten a sense for the kind of troubles that were plaguing the alternate timeline, but had experienced no flashes of insight as to their possible causes. The frustrated woman selected the icon on her computer's display to shut down her hard drive. As the whirring of her processors hummed to still, she internally berated herself. It was foolish, thinking she could find the answers that had eluded her own future counterpart, all by looking through the very data her doppelganger had herself compiled.

Of course, she still had another option open to her. It was one she'd hoped to avoid using if possible, but Bulma truly could not think of any other course of action to take.

"I need to talk to Trunks," she mumbled to herself wearily, rubbing the back of her neck in small circles and drinking the last of her coffee. She stood from her desk, now covered in empty coffee mugs and two full ashtrays, and made her way to her dimly lit stairwell. She quickly dashed up the stairs and up into the main floor of the compound. After a few moments of contemplating the most likely place her teenaged son would be, she picked up her gait and started moving toward the gravity room.

Her suspicions were confirmed as she heard the whirr of the gravity generators grind to a halt, then saw the large metal door open from down the corridor. She was unsurprised to see her son step out of the chamber. Trunks was carrying his sword with one hand and definitely looking the worse for wear, but appeared oddly cheerful despite his apparent fatigue and the obvious beating his body had taken. What was slightly more unexpected was seeing her husband exit the same room mere seconds later, also looking slightly drained, but bearing nowhere near the number of bruises and scrapes that were apparent on the teenager's skin.

She folded her arms, staring down father and son. "There has _got_ to be a better way for the two of you to bond." Trunks chuckled at his mother's comment, while Vegeta merely waved one hand dismissively and brushed past her, presumably to change out of his training clothes.

Trunks watched after his father as the older man strode down the hallways and toward the stairway. He was smiling when he turned back to Bulma. "What's going on? Have you found anything else out?"

Bulma placed her right hand upon her hip, running her left through her short teal hair. "I've gone through three terabytes of data, and I have come to an important conclusion."

Trunks raised an eyebrow, looking equal parts concerned and hopeful. "What's that?"

"That I am utterly stumped." Trunks' face fell at her reply.

"So what do we do now?" the teenager asked, foisting his sword and sheath onto his back.

"I didn't want it to come to this, and I'm not sure it's going to work, but I think we're out of options." The woman reached up, placing her hand upon Trunks' shoulder. "I know we've gotten more than our fair share of use out of the Dragonballs, but if ever there was a time to use them, this is it. Let's gather them, and see if Shenlong can't do something to fix the time stream."

"Do you think it will work?"

"I don't know," Bulma replied honestly. "It could very well be beyond the dragon's power. But it's definitely worth checking out."

"Of course." Trunks nodded, his face once again set in that familiar, determined expression. "Let me go shower and change, and we can get going." Bulma nodded in assent before briskly turning around to retrieve the dragon radar.

* * *

Bulma felt a twinge of nostalgia as she glanced into the back of her plane, taking in the sight of the glossy orange balls that sit there. There was a time when the hunt for the Dragonballs had seemed to her the ultimate adventure, the single greatest undertaking upon which a young traveler could embark. It was strange how what had been such a grand task decades before now felt almost routine. The ease with which she had gathered the first five Dragonballs left her almost wistful for days gone by. In a matter of hours, she had, thanks to the marked improvements she had made to the dragon radar over the years and the weight of her experience, been able to gather the majority of the orbs without incident. Mother and son had spent the better part of the day flying west, so they still had a few hours of daylight ahead of them.

There were only two balls left, and they were approaching the sixth Dragonball with great speed. They had already gathered the one-, three-, four-, five-, and six-star balls; the one they were coming upon had to be either the two-star or seven-star Dragonball. Bulma took a closer look at the dragon radar and directed Trunks to land the plane on the small, uninhabited island over which they were flying.

Trunks hummed his understanding and circled around the coast of the unpopulated isle as he brought down to sea-level, touching down with a smooth three-point landing. The vegetation on the island was scarce, consisting primarily of short grass and unimpressive shrubbery near the coast. The main feature of the island was what appeared to be an active volcano, still smoking at the center of the small landmass.

The smell of sulfur was heavy in the air. Bulma covered her nose with the sleeve of her shirt, and saw Trunks do the same with the right arm of his jacket. She examined the bleeping image on the radar as she approached the volcano, looking from the compact device to the smoking mountain and back again with a frown upon her delicate features.

"Well," she said, her voice somewhat muffled by her arm. "That's not good."

"What's not good?" Trunks asked, momentarily removing the cloth of his jacket sleeve from his mouth.

"Looks like the Dragonball is in the volcano."

Trunks let out a soft groan. "There's always _something._" He shook his head, taking his arm down from his face entirely. "I've got this covered." He clenched both fists, now low at his sides, and pursed his lips in concentration.

Though Bulma had never learned to sense energy, she could recognize the visual signed of her half-Saiyan son powering up. The ground beneath him appeared to shake slightly, as grains of dust and volcanic ash rose around his ankles and up to his knees. A strange light seemed to emanate from his body, even though it was apparent that the boy was not undergoing a Super Saiyan transformation. Bulma would swear that his muscles seemed to bulge slightly with their enhanced power, but it was entirely possible that she was simply imagining that. Soon, Trunks' tense posture and facial features relaxed, his power-up apparently complete.

"Trunks," Bulma said in a concerned tone, "I'm not sure powering up is going to keep you from being _burned to a crisp._"

The teen gave the small mountain an intense stare. "No, but I can basically compress a _ki_ shield around my body. I should be able to keep that going for at least a couple of minutes." Bulma nodded; while the idea seemed odd to her, she had learned through decades of observation that the ability to control and manipulate large amounts of pure energy could lend a fighter a whole host of strange abilities. Suspending her sense of disbelief was something she had become exceedingly good at over the years. She watched as Trunks flew up to the mountain's summit, forced an odd translucent glow to condense around his body, and leapt in to the volcano's crater.

Bulma realized that it couldn't have been more than about two minutes, but it seemed that she was waiting at the edge of the volcano for an eternity. She glanced fretfully from the dragon radar to the obviously active volcano, waiting with bated breath. Though she was aware that Trunks knew what he was doing—and that the teenager had faced challenges far greater and more dangerous than a pit of hot lava—maternal instinct left her more than a little uncomfortable with the notion of her teenaged son going volcano-diving.

Her worry was soon allayed when Trunks reappeared from the crater and flew back down to ground level. Magma slid off his body like mercury, leaving him completely unscathed as he powered down. In his right hand sat the seven-star Dragonball, equally clean and undamaged.

Trunks let out the breath he had been holding; Bulma did the same. "See?" he said, tossing the orange ball into the air and catching it effortlessly in his palm. "Easy."

Bulma glowered at her son as she snatched the Dragonball from him. "Teenagers."

* * *

"Arise, Shenlong!"

Though Trunks had seen the Eternal Dragon once before, when he had been brought back from the dead at the conclusion of the Cell Games, he had never seen Shenlong being summoned. So it was with no small amount of amazement that he watched the seven small orbs glow with pure magical energy as his mother called out the simple incantation. Night may have already fallen, but Trunks would swear that the sky darkened even more as a dome of light began to radiate from the gathered Dragonballs.

Bulma and Trunks had found the two-star ball among the vines of a far-away rainforest, and though it had taken some time to locate the orb among the foliage, its retrieval hadn't been difficult. They had quickly loaded the last Dragonball onto their plane and retreated to a secluded mountain range several miles north of West City. Hopefully, local residents would not see the awesome and terrifying sight of a massive reptile seemingly materializing out of thin air.

Within seconds, a single stream of light burst straight upwards from the glowing dome. It blasted hundreds of feet into the air, winding and snaking around as it began to take shape. Long, thin sparks shot forth from the main beam, quickly dissipating into the night sky. Trunks stumbled back, shielding his eyes from the powerful glow as the beam wound about itself, growing and widening as what appeared to be the dragon's head continued to climb into the sky. Moments later, the bright glow abruptly disappeared, and the serpentine form took on its characteristic green and scaly appearance.

"Whoa," Trunks said, moving his hand away from his face. He gazed right past the dragon's sharp fangs and long, wriggling whiskers. He could feel his heart rate increase as he looked straight into its enormous, glowing red eyes. The demi-Saiyan was transfixed.

"You have awakened me from my slumber," came Shenlong's deep and booming voice. He spoke with a godlike authority; Trunks could not have looked away if he tried. "Speak. Name your first wish."

"Oh," Trunks said, startled back to awareness of his task by the dragon's command. He looked to his mother, who stood with her arms folded on her right. "How do we phrase this?"

Bulma bit her lip, frowning up at the large dragon. Trunks couldn't help but notice how much less impressed his mother seemed with the dragon's appearance than he was. He assumed that was largely due to the sheer number of times the woman had helped summon Shenlong over the course of her life.

"I'm not sure," she said, folding her arms and tapping her foot upon the grassy ground. "Probably should have worked that out before."

"Speak!" the dragon repeated, obvious irritation sliding into his intimidating voice as it reverberated throughout the mountain range. "I grow impatient!"

"So what's new," Bulma grumbled, crossing her arms across her chest. Trunks would have laughed at her unimpressed reaction to the dragon's threat, had he not been so awe-struck by Shenlong's very appearance. "Alright," she shouted up at Shenlong. "Here's the situation. Trunks came from this alternate future timeline, which we think has been destabilized. Is there anything you can do to stabilize the timestream?"

The dragon actually paused before answering. "No," he responded, his speech sounding even more like a growl than it had before. "Such a wish is far beyond my power to grant."

"Damn," Trunks said under his breath. He finally looked away from Shenlong, disappointment giving way to actual anger. He bit the inside of his cheek, refraining from letting out a torrent of curses. Even the near-omnipotence of the Eternal Dragon couldn't repair what had somehow come unglued in time. Once again, the time-traveling warrior found himself back at square one.

Bulma, on the other hand, seemed unperturbed. Trunks recalled how she had already considered the possibility that Shenlong would, for whatever reason, be unable to affect events from beyond this timeline. So it was without hesitation that she made her next request.

"In that case, is there something that can connect us to Trunks' timeline?" she asked loudly. "Something that I can use to monitor his reality?"

The dragon seemed to consider the possibility before responding. "It shall be done." Moments later, a cubed unit, barely larger than a music box, was sitting on the ground near Trunks' feet.

He approached the small, box-like object, kneeing before it and gazing at it. To describe the box as "dark" or "black" would have been a gross understatement. It wasn't simply dark in color—it actually seemed not to reflect light, period. Trunks got the sense that, if he were to reach out and try to touch it, he would feel nothing at all.

It was mesmerizing.

Bulma stepped over to her son and the small block. "Wow," she said, sounding as thoroughly impressed as Trunks felt. "Unless I'm mistaken, that's dark matter."

Trunks tore his stare away from the black box and looked up at his mother. "What?"

"Only about four percent the universe is made of observable matter," Bulma explained. "The rest of it is made of dark matter and something called dark energy. I'm guessing this is dark matter." She folded her arms, shaking her head in something between satisfaction and disbelief. "It emits no detectable radiation. The only reason we can observe it _now_ is because of the fact that it's sitting against the backdrop of visible matter." She looked back at the dragon, shifting her attention to Shenlong once more. "Does this mean that our timelines share the same nexus of dark matter?"

"Yes," the dragon said. "This much is shared between your two timelines." The dragon let a few moments of silence pass between mother and son before speaking again. "I cannot manipulate the time stream further. Do you have a second wish?"

Just as Trunks was opening his mouth to respond, no, and thank the Eternal Dragon, Bulma interrupted. "Yes," she said. She turned to her teenaged son, an explanation already at her lips. "I have an idea, but I'm going to need a hell of a power source if this is going to work." She turned back to the floating dragon. "Can you give me some sort of electric power source? Something compact and _really_ powerful?"

"That," Shenlong replied, his demeanor much calmer than it had been when he was first awakened, "is well within my abilities." Bulma smiled as a glowing white orb, smaller even then the Dragonballs, appeared by Trunks next to the dark matter that had been conjured.

"Your wish has been granted," the dragon said abruptly once the orb had settled on the grassy ground. "Farewell." Without another word, Shenlong disappeared, and the Dragonballs emitted a power glow before leaping into the air and scattering, presumably dissipating to the corners of the Earth.

"Man," Bulma said, watching one Dragonball fly due east before it disappeared from sight. "That _never_ gets old."

"What are you planning to do with this stuff?" Trunks asked, looking from the dark matter on the ground to the glowing power source next to it.

"It's a shot in the dark, so to speak," Bulma responded. "But if I have some kind of conduit that will link us to your world, I might be able to at least monitor what's happening in your timeline."

"Do you think it will work?"

"Can't be sure until I try." Bulma bent down to pick up the power source. "But it's better than nothing."

Trunks raised an eyebrow at the glowing orb in his mother's palm. "Should you really be carrying that?"

"Probably not," she replied, smiling. "I have no idea how radioactive this actually is. So we'd better get it back to the plane and get home as soon as possible."

"Okay," Trunks agreed. He bent down to lift the dark matter. Contrary to his expectations, it _felt_ solid enough in his hands. He gripped it tightly, and was stunned to find that he could not pick it up due to its sheer weight.

"Wow," Trunks strained, trying to lift it once again. "This is...really heavy."

"Of course it is, silly. It's hyper-condensed." Bulma nodded in encouragement. "Just power up. I don't think the plane can carry it, so do you think you can get it back to the house on your own?"

"Shouldn't be a problem." Trunks quickly transformed to his Super Saiyan form before attempting to lift the unit again. Carrying the small block was still not easy, but at least he could get it off the ground now.

"Just make sure no one sees you flying in," Bulma said, walking back to her plane.

Trunks considered the scenario of explaining to some confused West City denizen his appearance and his ability to fly, as well as the absurdly dark and heavy unit in his arms. He smiled at the ridiculous thought. "You don't have to tell me twice."

* * *

"Why on _earth_ does a house need thirteen bathrooms?"

Trunks thought it was a legitimate question, but his younger self didn't seem to agree. "Why not?" the youngster replied, rolling his eyes upward. "Big house, lots of space between rooms. No one wants to run half a mile just to take a whiz, you know."

Trunks chuckled at the crassly phrased response. He and Bulma had returned to Capsule Corp rather late the night before, and the teenager had gotten some well-deserved rest upon his return. He had been foraging for breakfast in the large kitchen when his younger self had entered. The eleven-year-old Trunks had nearly choked on his cereal when he learned that, despite the fact that the older boy had been in this timeline for over a week, no one had thought to give him a tour of the facilities. Since there wasn't much he could do until Bulma had enacted whatever plan she had in mind for the dark matter and the small energy generator, the teenager had happily gone alone with the kid's insistence at showing him around every corner of the large compound.

They had been at it for over an hour when Bulma found them, poking their heads into Vegeta's thankfully unoccupied lab. She folded her arms, frowning at her two sons. "Trunks, I've been looking all over for you."

Both boys startled and turned around, their movements exactly in time with one another. "For me?" the boys asked in unison. As if they had rehearsed the exchange, the boys shared a look before letting out simultaneous chuckles. The older boy's laughter died down before the younger's, and the teenager coughed into his palm as he caught his breath. Bulma's scowl evaporated at the display, her expression shifting into an amused smile.

"The older one," she said, stepping over to the boys. "Mind if I steal him away?" Bulma asked, addressing her younger son.

The boy shrugged. "Knock yourself out," he said, bounding off quickly. The teenaged Trunks laughed again, remembering what Goten had said the first time they had met. The younger Son boy was right; as long as Trunks was stuck in this timeline, the name situation _was_ going to be confusing.

The teen's chuckles quieted as he followed his mother through the basement corridor into her own lab. "So, did your plan work?" he asked, stepping into Bulma's dimly lit workstation. "Have you figured anything out?"

"You bet," she said, sitting down at her main computer. Trunks could see that, underneath her large desk, a series of wires and fiber optic tubes connected the dark matter and the power source to her computer and what appeared to be another processing unit.

"Like I explained," Bulma said, "the unit Shenlong gave us is dark matter. Specifically, it's _baryonic_ dark matter."

Trunks pulled up a chair and sat next to his mother. "Translation, please?"

"The vast majority of dark matter is nonbaryonic—basically, it's not made of atoms. This," she said, pointing under her desk, "is the exception, rather than the rule. Baryonic dark matter _is_ made of protons and electrons, meaning that it can interact directly with ordinary matter through electromagnetic forces."

"How is that useful?"

"It seems like each timeline has a different physical plane in terms of regular matter, but actually shares the same mass of dark matter. We might have two timelines, but we're ultimately only one universe." Bulma gave her son a self-satisfied grin as she pointed at an especially large monitor she had set up on a side table. "I refit some of the equipment I used to enter the coordinates for space travel to Namek. It's a lot quicker to cannibalize existing technology than to build it from scratch."

"Build _what_ from scratch?" Trunks asked. His mother's explanation of her work had actually managed to leave him more confused than before.

"When I hook up the unit from the spaceship to this screen, you get an image of our world. Then I use the energy source, hook it up to the electron beam generator, and—" Bulma pressed a button on her keyboard, and the screen split. There were two graphic images, each seemingly identical, save for the streams of green numbers running below each blue orb.

The teenager finished the thought. "There are two Earths." Trunks' eyes widened in wonder. "Can we zoom in and actually see what's happening on my world?"

"Oh, no," Bulma said, pointing at the number stream at the bottom of the screen. "The images are just for my benefit. They don't actually _tell_ me anything. All the actual information is down here."

Trunks frowned at the numbers on the screen. "What do those figures mean?"

"They're basically energy signatures. I entered the spatial coordinates of the earth when I hooked up the dark matter to my computer. Any energy signatures emitted at those coordinates should be reflected on my screen." She grinned at her own innovation. "We just needed a conduit."

"Have you learned anything?"

"Kind of," she said, turning to face her son again. "See, the energy signatures being reflected here _should_ be identical, but for some reason, the figures I'm getting are different." The rate of her speech seemed to accelerate with each sentence, as if she were trying to cram as much information into as little time as possible. "A steady stream of energy is emanating from both Earths, but they're not the same. I'm just not sure what that means."

"So what do we do now?" Trunks asked.

"That actually leads me to my next question," the woman said authoritatively. "Do you have a copy of the time machine's design?"

"Well," Trunks hesitated, "my mother gave me a separate disc with the design, in case the time machine was destroyed. But I'm afraid building another one would be risky." He shook his head. "Besides, it would take way too long."

"I'm not going to build another machine, Trunks," Bulma reassured her son. "I just want to study its design. I need to look for clues anywhere I can." She tapped her long-nailed index finger against her chin thoughtfully. "See, the energy signatures I'm picking up _might_ be from your world circa 776, the same year it is here. Based on your story, the problems in your world didn't start until 783."

Trunks nodded in comprehension. "I've moved across time _and_ space. That's why the time machine's design might be helpful."

"Exactly."

"I'll get you the disc then," he agreed with a smile, standing. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Not for now, sweetie," Bulma said, turning back to her computer screen. "I'll let you know if I need anything."

"Are you _sure_ there's nothing you want me to do?" As much as he appreciated all Bulma's help, Trunks was growing frustrated with his own inability to make himself useful.

Predictably, Bulma shook her head. "Not that I can think of." She gave her teenaged son a warm, reassuring smile. "But since you're here anyway, it might be worth it for you to take a trip to Kame House. Krillin and Master Roshi are still living out there."

Trunks nodded at the reminder. Though he had, in the past week, managed to reconnect with Piccolo and the other Saiyans he had fought with against Cell and the androids, he had yet to encounter Krillin, Tien or Yamcha.

"Sounds good," he said with a smile, moving toward the doorway of the lab. "I'll head out as soon as I get you the disc." Suiting his actions to his words, Trunks dashed up the stairs to his bedroom.

* * *

Though Trunks could not actually remember the flight path he had taken to Kame House in the past, it wasn't too difficult to seek out Krillin's distinctive _ki_ signature. Human energy had a very different feel to it than either the Saiyan or Namekian variety, and Krillin was without question the most powerful full-blooded human on the planet. Trunks used one of Bulma's planes to travel to the edge of the West City metropolitan area, capsulizing the plane midair and switching to manual flight as soon as he was out of the range of the crowded suburbs. He idly wondered if the inhabitants of Kame House would be as stunned by his presence as the others had been, or if Krillin or Roshi would sense his energy before he arrived.

Soon enough, Trunks came upon the small island. He landed softly on the sand at the beach's edge, stepping into the shade of one of the palm trees that grew on the isle. He quickly walked up to the house, signaling his arrival with three sharp knocks on the wooden door. He smiled as he heard footsteps approaching. Before long, a slim, very attractive, strangely young-looking blonde woman opened the door.

And Trunks' world froze.


	7. Snap Into Place

**Percussion**

**Chapter 6  
Snap Into Place**

* * *

Trunks cracked one eye open, quickly moving his arm to shield his face from the onslaught of sunbeams coming in through his window. He considered trying to get back to sleep, but he knew it would be no use; once he woke up in the mornings, he stayed up. He had once again forgotten to shut the blinds over his large windows, which faced due east, so he was awoken by the light in his room shortly after sunrise.

The teenager removed his arm as his eyes adjusted to the light. He slid to the edge of his bed, practically rolling off the bed until his feet hit the carpeted floor. He stepped over to the clock on his nightstand, reaching down to shut off the alarm, now that he was up anyway. No wonder he was tired; it wasn't even seven o'clock yet. Trunks had, much to his mother's chagrin, holed himself up in her lab until past two a.m. the night before, watching the monitors Bulma had set up in hopes of finding some sort of consistent pattern. He'd spent the night jotting down notes about the endlessly fluctuating stream of energy signatures that seemed to be emanating from his world, as compared with the relatively stable figures that streamed out of this timeline's earth. It was a task that had taken up most of his time over the past few days. Though he'd collected a fair amount of data, he still had no idea what those numbers he'd written down actually _meant._

The date stamp in the lower right corner of his clock's display screen caught Trunks' eye. _Sat. 25 Dec._ He shook his head, amazed at how quickly another week had gone by. Almost unconsciously, he opened the drawer of his nightstand, taking a peek at the capsule canister Bulma had given him upon his arrival. His time machine was still in that canister, untouched since he had shown up over two weeks prior.

Every day provided yet another reminder of how much time had passed since his last journey to this timeline. Many of the cues were subtle—the way Bulma had seemed to mellow out with her age, or the slight differences in the setup of the Capsule Corp compound. Other factors, such as the change in his father's demeanor, or how much his own younger self had grown up, were far starker reminders.

But nothing, _nothing_ had been as great a shock as his visit to Kame House the week before.

It was probably a good thing that Trunks had been caught so off-guard when Android 18 opened the door. Had Trunks been able to get his bearings more quickly, he might have simply attacked her without further thought. As it was, he had been so stunned that he had simply yelled out, "What are you doing here!?"

The admittedly rude statement seemed to pull Eighteen out of her own shock at seeing Trunks. She had narrowed her eyes at the teenager and ground out, "I _live_ here. What the hell are _you_ doing here?" Krillin had thankfully showed up at the front door a few moments later, and after a round of surprised greetings, invited Trunks inside.

What followed had been the single most awkward conversation of Trunks' life. The teenager had listened with morbid fascination as Krillin explained that, in the decade since he'd last left this timeline, the blonde android had become not only an ally, but Krillin's wife. It had taken every ounce of his self-control to keep from saying something exceedingly rude about Krillin's judgment—as it was, Trunks ended up silently nodding through most of their impromptu reunion. Even after Eighteen had excused herself, the tension in the room did not quite dissipate. Scarcely had Trunks started to relax when Krillin introduced him to the six-year-old Marron. As happy as Trunks was to learn that Krillin had finally started his own family, the thought of _whom_ he had started that family with left Trunks sick to his stomach.

Beside that, he couldn't quite figure out the anatomical logistics of an android pregnancy. Trunks shuddered—he _really _didn't want to think about it.

The young time-traveler shook his head, trying to clear the thought from his mind, and walked over to his closet to get dressed. Bulma had conjured up a wardrobe in a surprisingly short amount of time, and promptly filled his bedroom closet with the new clothing. He was amazed when it turned out that everything fit; how his mother could guess his exact size simply from looking was beyond him. Trunks smiled a bit to himself as quickly changed into a pale blue, long-sleeved shirt and a pair of black pants. His mother had obviously picked up on his affinity for muted colors and simple patterns.

Trunks stopped in the kitchen to grab a quick breakfast and his morning caffeine fix before making his way back down into Bulma's laboratory, as he did every morning. He was surprised to find that she was already in the laboratory—he was usually an earlier riser than his mother. She was staring at her computer screen, seemingly unaware that Trunks had come in.

"Mother?" he asked as he gathered up the notes he had left on the lab's long, chrome counter the night before. "What are you doing up so early?"

"Huh?" Bulma turned to face her son, now alerted to his presence. "What do you mean, early?"

Trunks fought to suppress a chuckle. He took in the dark circles under the woman's eyes, and the weary expression on her face. Even with the minimal lighting available in the laboratory, Trunks could see that an unusual pallor had come to her cheeks and lips. That made significantly more sense—his mother hadn't woken up at all. She'd simply stayed up all night. "It's seven a.m.," he said with a smile. "And you give _me_ a hard time for not getting enough sleep."

"I'm your mother, it's in the job description," she said, looking back to the screen. "I guess I've just gotten wrapped up in the research. I've actually learned a lot from the notes you've been taking all week."

"Really?" Trunks said hopefully, pulling his chair up next to Bulma. "Like what?"

"Well," she began, "the energy signatures from your world seem to be fluctuating a lot more than the ones from _our_ world." She opened a spreadsheet on her computer, indicating the data on the monitor with her finger.

Trunks peered closer at the screen. "What does that mean?"

"I think it means that whatever instabilities there are in the time stream, your timeline is the only one feeling the effects."

"We'd already guessed as much," Trunks said thoughtfully.

"Yeah," Bulma agreed, "but this validates our theories. Whatever is going on, _your_ world is at the root of the problem." Bulma turned her son again, smiling. "But that's not the most important thing I've learned."

"What is?" Trunks asked hopefully.

Bulma opened another spreadsheet, scanning the data tables on it rapidly. "Just out of curiosity, I entered in the coordinates of some other planets in your timeline. While there seems to be some instability there as well, the wildest fluctuations are coming from the Earth."

Again, Trunks frowned in confusion. "Does that tell us anything?"

"Oh yeah," Bulma said with a vigorous nod. "Again, it's something we've suspected from the beginning. But now we can be pretty sure that, in your timeline, the Earth is at the center of the problem."

Trunks bit his lower lip, looking away pensively. "So at least we know where to look."

"Exactly." She closed out the data windows she had opened. She then jutted one finger back toward the second monitor, the one which she had set up to observe the various energy signals emanating within Trunks' timeline. "But right now, _that_ is our only source of information."

Trunks furrowed his brow in thought. He had been concerned before that the mechanism that Bulma had set up could become instable—especially given how little scientists seemed to know about the exact properties of dark matter—but despite his earlier doubts, the monitor was turning out to be a fairly reliable source of data. The mechanism's stability notwithstanding, however, it was still a limited source of information. Trunks hummed to himself for a moment, trying to draw reasonable inferences from both his and his mother's observations. "You said that the signals are fluctuating pretty wildly," he said. "Does that mean my timeline is becoming more unstable?"

"Oh, not at all," Bulma said in a reassuring tone. "The fluctuations haven't gotten any worse since last week. I just meant that they were massive compared to the signals I'm getting from _this_ timeline."

Trunks rubbed his temples, truing to get his muddled thoughts in order. "So does it look like things are improving?"

"Unfortunately, no. There haven't really been _any_ changes. Things aren't getting better, but at least they don't seem to be getting worse."

"So what now?"

"You remember what I said about the 'trigger' in your timeline?"

"Yes," Trunks nodded. "That something in my timeline must have triggered the instability, but we don't know what that trigger is."

"Well," Bulma said, "unless we can come up with what that trigger might _be_, I think we'll just have to wait and see if there are any changes. But constantly staring at this monitor isn't going to accomplish anything."

"So," Trunks said in a serious tone, "what do you want me to do now?"

"Relax!" was Bulma's unexpected reply. "Have some fun! As wonderful as it is to see you, you should really be hanging out with some people your own age." She gave Trunks a knowing smile. "I'm sure Gohan would be more than happy to introduce you to some of his friends."

"Relax." Trunks' voice was oozing with incredulity. "While the time stream is falling apart."

"Do you have any better ideas?"

"Not exactly, but—"

"Sweetheart," Bulma cut him off, her own voice warm but firm. Trunks couldn't help but be reminded of the tone with which his mother in his own timeline always addressed him. "You've been through so much. It's okay to give yourself a break every once in a while." Trunks cast his eyes downward, looking very much like he wanted to argue the point, but Bulma pressed on. "You're not going to do any good by sitting around worrying while we try to figure out what's going on."

Trunks began again. "But—"

"No buts," Bulma cut in once more. "If I have to drag you to Satan City myself, I will."

"Mother," Trunks insisted, "that isn't really necessary."

"Oh yes it is," Bulma said with exaggerated sternness. "I'm serious, mister. I will have you banned from the kitchen if you fight me on this."

"Isn't Gohan busy with school?" Trunks asked, trying another approach.

"That's my point." Bulma laughed and rolled her eyes at the teenager's question. "I know that boy. Trust me, he probably needs to get out as badly as you do."

"Tell you what, I'll take the evening off if you promise to get some sleep."

"Can't," Bulma said, shaking her head. "I'm on play date duty today. Goten should be flying in any minute, and Krillin's bringing Marron over within the next hour or so."

Trunks ignored the discomfort he felt at the mention of Krillin and Eighteen's daughter. He simply stood and shook his head. "You win this round," he said, sounding resigned. "I'll give Gohan a call later today."

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Gohan said, attempting to recap the account Trunks had given him. "There is a single nexus of dark matter shared between the two timelines. Shenlong gave you some of it." He drummed his fingers thoughtfully against the edge of the wooden chair on which he was seated. It had been a slow Saturday afternoon, so Gohan was more than happy to see the other teenager when he had called. However, as soon as the time-traveler had arrived at Gohan's apartment, the black-haired youth made the mistake of asking how much progress Trunks and Bulma had made over the past week. This launched Trunks into an explanation that, despite Gohan's natural affinity for science and mathematics, went straight over the older teenager's head at points.

"Yeah," Trunks said, affirming what information Gohan had retained over the past half-hour. He leaned back into the couch, nodding.

"And _that_," Gohan continued, "was enough of a conduit between your timeline and ours to let Bulma rig up some device that monitors the energy signatures that are coming out of the Earth's space coordinates."

"Uh huh," Trunks said with another nod. "For some reason, the energy signatures we're reading from my Earth are different from the ones we're reading from here. My guess it's the same reason my world is experiencing this timestream instability, or whatever's going on."

"Tell me if I've got this right," Gohan frowned. "You know _what_ you're looking at, you're just not sure _when_?"

"Exactly," Trunk agreed. "I came from the year 783. Right now, it's 776. It's possible that the energy signatures we're reading are from 776, not the future."

"But if the problems in your world didn't start until 783, then how is that helpful?"

"I'm not sure," Trunks admitted. "But my mother explained that time and space don't operate independently of one another. They're a single continuum, so the fact that we've got the right place at the wrong time might not matter."

Gohan's frown deepened. "So you think all the weird energy signatures you're getting from your Earth are a sign of this timestream instability." Gohan scratched his right temple thoughtfully. "Is that why you ended up traveling back to this time period instead of to year 766?"

"Possibly. Seems more likely than the time machine malfunctioning, anyway."

"Have you made any headway figuring out what's actually _causing_ the instability?"

"That's less clear," Trunks said. "We think there has to be some inconsistency between the timelines, _and_ that there's got to be some sort of trigger on my world. Someone manipulating the timestream, maybe a lingering source of spiritual or magical energy, _something_ that might have the kinds of ripple effects that would result in these problems."

"I...guess that makes sense?" Gohan scratched his head, wondering how Trunks could possibly know what this so-called "trigger" might be.

"It's complicated, I know," Trunks agreed. "Long story short, we don't know what's causing the problems, but at least we have some way of monitoring a little of what's going on in my world."

"This is crazy," Gohan said with a puff, his thoughts racing. "So now you're...just kind of waiting around to see if anything happens?"

"Pretty much."

"What are you doing in the meantime?"

"Well, that's kind of what brings me here," Trunks said with a sheepish smile. "Mother has this strange notion that eighteen-year-old boys aren't supposed to hole themselves up in laboratories all day."

Gohan chortled at Trunks' sarcastic comment. "I'd probably agree."

Trunks grinned. "I think my mother is just trying to get me out of her hair for a while. So I've been ordered on pain of death or revocation of kitchen privileges to 'go out and have some fun.'"

"Now _that_ I can do," Gohan said with a laugh. "One of Videl's friends is hosting a party tonight, and she's insisting on dragging me along anyway. I'm sure you'll be more than welcome to join." In the years since he had started at Orange Star High, Gohan had finally adjusted to interacting with people his own age. He hadn't realized before how isolated he was in his little mountain home.

Gohan smiled to himself. Of course, he was very close to his father, and he had grown to respect and even care about Vegeta over the years, but the two full-blooded Saiyans possessed a constant drive to fight that Gohan wasn't sure he would ever fully wrap his mind around. The boys, on the other hand, were so much younger—and more mischievous—than he was. Again, as much as he cared for his little brother and the young Trunks, there were so many ways in which he simply couldn't relate to them.

Though Gohan could not imagine the losses this Trunks had suffered in his eighteen years, he understood all too well what it meant to have what was supposed to be a happy and carefree childhood ripped away. He was grateful that, with the notable exception of their fierce battles with Buu, Goten had lived a relatively sheltered life.

Besides, it was nice to have another demi-Saiyan his own age around.

"Uh," Trunks said a bit awkwardly, interrupting Gohan's thoughts, "there's something else I've been meaning to ask about."

"Sure," said Gohan, smiling. "What's up?"

"So I went to Kame House the other day."

"Yeah?"

Trunks pursed his lips, wrinkling his nose as he paused to gather the words. "Why didn't anyone _warn_ me that Android 18 was going to be there?"

Gohan's eyes widened. "Oh, man," he said, shaking his head. In truth, Eighteen had been a part of their group of allies so long that he hadn't even considered what a shock her presence might be to Trunks. Bulma had apparently made the same mistake. "Sorry. We've just gotten so used to having her around." Gohan forced himself not to laugh at the comically uncomfortable expression on the younger teen's face. "I'm guessing that meeting didn't go well."

"It was . . . awkward. To say the least." Trunks rolled his eyes upward, but a small smile appeared on his face. Gohan was glad to see that, at the very least, Trunks could find some humor in the situation.

"Come on," said Gohan. "I'm gonna call Videl and get the address of the party, cool?"

"Sure," Trunks agreed half-heartedly. "Sounds good."

* * *

A good half of East Keio University's student population consisted of Satan City locals, and many of Gohan's high school classmates had ended up at the university. This meant that even though Gohan was not usually one for the party scene, the house was filled with familiar faces. When Videl had insisted on living one of the single rooms in the dormitory, her friend Erasa had decide to rent out a townhouse near the main campus with a few other girls. It was at her house that this particular party was being hosted.

As soon as Gohan opened the door, he was greeted by the sight of dozens of teenagers crammed into the living room. Most of them were holding either red, plastic party cups or glass beer bottles, and it was difficult to hear much over the voices talking over one another and the music blaring in the background.

Erasa, while not necessarily one of the brightest girls at East Keio, was certainly one of the most social. This meant that Videl ended up dragged to more than her fair share of parties, but she usually wasn't successful in getting Gohan to come along with her. So Gohan wasn't surprised when a tall, muscular teenager with long blonde hair made his way through the crowd and approached him as soon as he and Trunks entered the crowded room.

"So," the taller boy began, "you actually decided to show up. What's wrong, Brains, did your library card expire?" Gohan rolled his eyes. He may have grown to consider Sharpner a friend over the years—hell, the fact that the blond boy had kept his identity as the Great Saiyaman a secret for so long was more than enough to earn Gohan's trust—but the taller youth could be fairly obnoxious.

Before Gohan could respond, a petite blonde girl wearing a strapless top and a pair of tight-fitting jeans approached them as well. She had a plastic cup in one hand, and a small camera was dangling by the strap around her other wrist. "Oh, hush, Sharpner," she said, flashing a brilliant smile at Gohan. "I'm glad you made it."

"No problem, Erasa," said Gohan, grateful for the girl's intervention. She may have been an airhead, but she had never lacked for charm or grace. "Thanks for inviting me."

Sharpner rolled his eyes upward as Erasa turned her attention to Trunks, giving the other demi-Saiyan an equally bright smile. "And who's your cute friend here?"

"Uh..." Trunks paused awkwardly, giving Gohan a pleading look. It took Gohan a moment to realize the reason for the other teenager's hesitation. He had introduced him to Videl as "Pikkon," which meant that was the alias Trunks should probably stick to around his classmates.

Gohan spoke up quickly. "This is my friend Pikkon. He's checking out universities for next year."

Erasa paused to take a sip of her drink before grinning again. "Well, Pikkon, enjoy the party! Drinks and snacks are in the back." She then flitted away, presumably to chat with more of the party guests, and pulling Sharpner along in her wake.

"Uh," Trunks said as soon as they were out of earshot, raising a violet eyebrow at Gohan. "Who were they?"

"Erasa and Sharpner," Gohan said. "They're old friends from high school, actually. Erasa's the one throwing this party."

"Friends?" Trunks asked around a chuckle. "That Sharpner guy didn't seem too friendly."

"He's always like that," Gohan said with a shrug. "You get used to it."

Trunks opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, they were interrupted by an irritated female voice. "Gohan, you have to get her away from me."

Gohan turned to see Videl standing on his other side, looking quite flustered with her arms folded. He took in his tense posture and deeply annoyed expression as he responded to her statement. "Get who away from you?"

"Erasa!" Videl said, throwing up her hands. "She won't put away that damn camera!" Gohan had to laugh at Videl's exasperation. Erasa was an absolutely notorious shutterbug, and Videl—probably because of growing up with such a famous father—really didn't like having her picture taken. This, as it turns out, made for a rather bad combination.

"Sorry," Gohan said, trying to sound sympathetic. "But it's a crowded party. You can probably manage to keep away from her on your own."

Videl grumbled something inaudible before tilting her head to look at Trunks. "Hey," she said, looking him up and down slowly. "What did you say your name was again?"

"Pikkon," Trunks said as he returned her stare. "Videl, right?"

"Yeah," she said, her eyes lingering on Trunks face.

Trunks cleared his throat, finally breaking eye contact with her. "Well, it's nice to see you again, Videl."

"Of course," she said a bit coldly. She then turned abruptly to Gohan. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" She didn't want for an answer, dragging him by the hand and pulling him away from the main party. Gohan shot Trunks an apologetic look, while Trunks simply stood there, looking deeply confused by the exchange that had just taken place.

Videl all but shoved Gohan into the otherwise empty kitchen and stood in front of him, folding her arms. "Pikkon's an old family friend, huh?"

"Yeah," Gohan nodded, wondering where she was going with this. "I've known him since I was about six." That, at least, was not a lie. It was a strange thought—less than a year had passed for Trunks since the time-traveler had come to warn Goku about the threat of the androids, while thirteen years had passed for Gohan.

"So how come you've never mentioned him before?" Videl asked in an accusing tone.

"Uh," Gohan said with no small measure of hesitation, "I guess it just never came up."

Videl scowled at Gohan, apparently no longer content to play along. "How stupid do you think I am? _You_ taught me to sense energy, remember?"

"What are you talking about?" Gohan asked with genuine confusion.

"His _ki_, dummy."

Gohan forced himself not to smack his own forehead in exasperation. Of course videl would pick up on the fact that Trunks was immensely powerful; the other demi-Saiyan's energy simply radiated from his body, and he had no particular reason to suppress his _ki_. "Oh," Gohan began, trying to come up with an explanation, "well, he's one of my father's pupils, and—"

"That's not what I meant, Gohan," Videl interrupted. "I know that's Trunks out there." Gohan's right eyebrow twitched slightly as his heart skipped a beat. He had forgotten how quickly his girlfriend had learned to recognize individual _ki_ signatures. His attempts to protect Trunks' identity had been useless after all. "So what happened?" Videl continued. "Did he fall into a tank in his mother's lab and age seven years?"

"Actually..." Gohan trailed off, wondering how best to explain the situation. Finally, he simply opted for the direct approach. "He's kind of from the future. An alternate future, anyway."

It was Videl's turn to look confused. "What? Are you saying he's some sort of time-traveler?"

"Yeah," Gohan admitted. "The last time he was here was when he was helping us fight Cell."

"Ahh?" Videl's jaw dropped. She blinked rapidly at her boyfriend for a few moments, obviously trying to gather her thoughts. "You—you never said anything about a boy from the future!"

Gohan reached up towards his scalp, scratching his head as a look of contrition appeared on his face. "You, uh, never asked?"

Videl squeezed her eyes shut and clenched one hand into a tight fist. "Gohan," she said, forcing herself to keep an even tone, "why wouldn't you tell me about that?"

"You are a little prone to freaking out," Gohan said sheepishly. "And I figured you might not believe me, even if I did tell you."

"Your father is a super-strong alien. You and most of your friends could blow the planet up with no more than a finger. What makes you think I wouldn't believe something like this?"

Despite himself, Gohan laughed. "That's about what Trunks said."

Videl sighed and opened her eyes back up, her expression now more one of weary exasperation than shock. "Look I promise not to tell anyone else," she said, waving one hand upward.

"Thanks," Gohan said with genuine gratitude. Trunks had been right after all—Videl had handled the revelation far better than he had expected. He smiled at her as they walked back into the large living room.

When he got back to the main party, Gohan found that Trunks was no longer standing where they had left him. He scanned the room a couple of times before he saw that Trunks was seated on one of the couches, looking intensely uncomfortable as an energetic redheaded girl chatted with—or rather, _at_—him.

Again, Gohan had to suppress a laugh. This was Angela's standard mode of operation. He recalled the day she had blackmailed him into a date during his first week of high school, and how overwhelmingly direct her style of flirtation was. He looked to Videl and saw that she also appeared to be holding back a giggle.

The girl must have taken pity on Trunks, however, because she pulled Gohan with her over to the couch. "Hey, Angela," Videl said, getting the girl's attention. "Any chance I can get you to make me up one of your famous fruity mixed drinks?

Angela looked away from Trunks, frowning. "Can't you make one yourself?"

Videl shook her head. "My drinks always end up tasting like motor oil," she said. She gave Angela an exaggerated pout. "Please?"

"Oh, fine," Angela said, standing from the couch and taking Videl across the room, making her way to the large table that was stocked with juices and various forms of liquor. This time, Gohan actually did chuckle at the look of relief and gratitude on Trunks face.

Gohan joined Trunks on the couch, taking the seat that Angela had just vacated. The younger demi-Saiyan did not acknowledge Gohan and instead rubbed his thumb and index finger against his temples, closing his eyes.

Gohan's sniggers died down. "Is something wrong?"

Trunks did not look up. "Maybe if I concentrate _real_ hard, I can make myself vanish before she gets back." Again, Gohan chuckled. His laughter was contagious—before he could stop himself, Trunks was laughing as well.

"Hey boys!" A high-pitched female voice interrupted them, but it wasn't Angela. "Smile!" Before either teenager had time to respond, Erasa had snapped the shutter on her camera, blinding Gohan and Trunks with the bright flash.

"Wow." Trunks blinked a few times, as though it would clear the glare of the flash from his eyes. "Can't we get a little more warning next time?"

"Nope," Sharpner interjected. "She says she likes to keep the shots 'natural,' whatever that means." Erasa stuck her tongue out at Sharpner, but seemed to validate his assertion when she moved the lens into his eyes and took an extreme close-up of his face. Sharpner stumbled back, now also subjected to the discomfort of having a very bright light suddenly flash in his eyes.

As his vision cleared, Gohan watched the whole display with a grin. First, the situation was pretty entertaining. But more than that, it was refreshing to see the teenaged Trunks happy and relaxed for once.

"Erasa," Gohan said, pulling her attention away from the blinded Sharpner, "I'd like doubles of the prints, if you don't mind."

Sharpner snorted, rubbing his eyes with both fists. "Assuming she ever remembers to get the film developed."

"Oh," Erasa insisted, "I'm not that bad."

"You still haven't gotten the pictures from summer break done!"

"I'm working on it!" she insisted indignantly.

"Working on it?" Sharpner snorted. "How hard is it to go to the drugstore and get a roll of film developed?" Erasa narrowed her eyes and blew her tongue at him, a gesture that Sharpner quickly returned.

Trunks shook his head and leaned in toward Gohan. "Your friends are all nuts, you know that?"

"No argument here." Gohan nodded as he stood from the couch. "Come on, let's find Videl."

* * *

It was well past two in the morning by the time the two teenaged half-Saiyans made it back to Gohan's studio apartment. Though neither one of them had had much to drink over the course of the evening, they both smelled heavily of the abundant liquor that had been available at the party. And they were both exhausted.

"Oh, wow," Trunks said, looking at his watch. "It's later than I thought. I should probably be getting back to West City."

"Or you could just crash here," Gohan said. "Head back to Capsule Corp in the morning."

Trunks frowned slightly. "Are you sure it isn't a problem?"

"'Course it isn't," Gohan said. "Seriously, crash on my bed. I can use the couch for tonight."

The other boy shook his head vigorously. "That's really not necessary. It's your place, I'll take the couch."

"No, really," Gohan insisted. "It's fine."

"We are _not_ having this argument." Trunks flopped onto the couch, emphasizing his point.

"Fine," Gohan said, slipping off his shoes. That, at least, seemed to be one trait that the teenaged Trunks shared with his younger counterpart—he could be very stubborn when he wanted to be.

Trunks yawned, taking off his own boots. "I have to say, that was more fun than I'd expected."

"Yeah," Gohan agreed. He wasn't much of a partier, but he found that he did usually enjoy himself when Videl managed to get him to go out. He fell backward onto the bed, not bothering to remove his socks or the rest of his clothing. "I can't remember the last time I was this exhausted." Gohan chuckled, more to himself than to Trunks. "Actually, yes I can. I haven't been this tired since fighting Majin Buu three years ago."

Trunks laughed in response. "You're exaggerating."

Gohan smiled, sitting up again. "Not much. College parties are _tiring_. Even if they don't have a rubbery, pink, murderous supernatural demon running around."

The smile instantly dropped from Trunks' face, replaced by a contemplative stare. "Murderous supernatural demon," he repeated aloud, sounding pensive.

"Uh huh," Gohan said around another yawn. "Turns out magical monsters like that are _really_ hard to kill."

"Magical..." Trunks' eyes widened. He leapt up from the couch, all traces of exhaustion leaving him. "My god, Majin Buu! That's the answer!"

Gohan stared for a moment, not knowing what had prompted Trunks' sudden excitement. "...What's the question?"

"The timestream!"

"What?" asked Gohan, becoming ever more confused.

"That has to be it!" Trunks was pacing wildly around the room, his eyes darting about as rapidly as his thoughts appeared to. "Buu didn't wake up when he was supposed to in my world. If he was as horribly powerful as you say he is, that might be what's destabilizing the time stream!" Trunks nodded, sounding completely certain. "He's got to be the trigger."

Gohan frowned, wondering how Trunks had arrived at this conclusion. "Why would Buu of all things be the trigger?"

"Look, the way my mother explained it, Majin Buu was an incredibly powerful being that was hatched by a wizard. Right?"

"Yeah."

"He was captured within a shell and buried in the Earth millennia ago." Trunks spoke more rapidly with every word. "About three years ago, the wizard Babidi awakened him, gathered energy from some of the words strongest fighters to fuel his reawakening. And even though he was _preposterously_ strong, and actually had the ability to _absorb _the powers of others, Goku and my father managed to defeat him."

"Yeah," Gohan repeated, wondering why Trunks would be telling him a story with which he was intimately familiar. "I remember that. What does this have to do with the time stream?"

"Gohan," said Trunks, looking at the ebony-haired boy again, "in my world, that time has already passed. Buu never woke up. And if he was really created by a wizard, then he's a magical entity. Even if he lies dormant, he's probably a massive source of magical energy. And magical energy can have some destabilizing effects."

Comprehension slowly began to dawn on Gohan. "Are you sure he's even buried in your Earth?"

"If Buu was really buried thousands of years ago, then that was long before the timelines diverged. But when I altered history by traveling back here, I created an inconsistency between the timelines, meaning that in _my _world there's this major source of magical power that _should_ have arisen and been destroyed, but _hasn't_." Trunks looked away, again seemingly speaking to himself as much as to Gohan. "And that's why it didn't have an impact until recently. My timeline might not have been affected until _yours_ was altered. Kami, this all fits in with my mother's research so _perfectly._"

"Wow," Gohan said, taking in the whole of Trunks' explanation. It was a torrent of information and speculation, but it did seem to make sense.

"Great gods," Trunks went on, "the percussive effects could be devastating." He bit his lower lip for a moment, looking back at Gohan once more. "Which means I have to eliminate that threat."

Gohan scratched his chin thoughtfully. "What are you getting at, Trunks?"

Trunks set his jaw, looking more resolved than Gohan had ever seen him. "I've got to go back to the future and destroy Majin Buu."


	8. By Degrees

**Author's Note:** Ugh. There's no excuse for this kind of delay, 70-hour workweeks or not. Suffice it to say, I'm back.

* * *

**Percussion****  
Chapter 7**

**By Degrees**

* * *

Gohan shook his head, sure he'd misheard his friend. "Come again?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Trunks nodded, once again seeming to speak more to himself than to the other teenager. "I have to find Majin Buu, and destroy his shell."

"Okay," Gohan said, falling back onto his pillow, "that's what I thought you said." He let his eyes slip shut for just a moment while the words sank in. A second later, they snapped open again as Gohan shot bolt upright in his bed.

"_WHAT?_"

Trunks responded in a quiet, thoughtful tone. "I've got to go after him, Gohan."

"Are you out of your mind?" Gohan shook his head again, now fully awake. "You could end up waking him! There's no way you can take him alone."

"Not right now, no." Gohan watched as Trunks pulled his left foot onto the couch, resting his chin upon his bent left knee and staring aimlessly in front of him. "But if I really train," Trunks went on, still appearing to speak more to himself than to Gohan, "I'll be able to at least ascend to Super Saiyan Two. Then, even if I wake him, he won't be anywhere near full strength. That might just be enough."

"That is completely insane. It's too big a risk," Gohan began again, trying to talk sense into the other demi-Saiyan. "You have no idea how horrible his power is."

"I know it's risky." Trunks finally turned his head to face Gohan. "But if it's a choice between that and letting the time stream fall apart, then it's just a chance I'm going to have to take."

Gohan bit his lip for a moment before trying another approach. "How do you even know Buu's the problem?"

"I don't." Trunks shrugged one shoulder. "It's total guesswork on my part. But it's not like I have any better ideas."

"You can't be serious. You can't possibly be thinking of doing something so dangerous without even knowing whether it'll work."

"You're right," Trunks nodded. "So I go back and look at my mother's research again."

"Didn't you already go through hundreds of pages of it?"

"More like thousands. But this time, I know what I'm looking for."

Gohan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose; a throbbing tension had suddenly developed there. "You are completely out of your mind."

Trunks let out a small chuckle. "Like you're the first person who's told me that." He shook his head and stood up from the couch. "I'm not going in blindly, Gohan. I'll do my research. I'll train. But I can't sit back and watch my world come apart." He folded his arms and stared at the other teen. "I'd think you of all people would understand that."

Gohan stood as well, making eye contact with Trunks. "Would you at least get some rest first? Sleep on it before diving into this?"

"Are you kidding me? I've got to get back to Capsule Corp right away. The sooner I start looking through Mother's files, the better." The younger demi-Saiyan shot the other boy a tired smile. "Thanks for everything, Gohan. I'll see you around, okay?"

"No way."

"Gohan," Trunks began, stifling a yawn, "I'm not arguing with you. I'm going."

"I mean, no way. If you're really going through with this crazy plan, you're going to need all the help you can get." The older teen quickly slid into his shoes, which still lay on the floor at his bedside. "I'm coming with you."

"It's almost three in the morning."

"Exactly. So either you can get some rest, or you can put up with me following you to Capsule Corp and digging through your mom's files. Your choice."

Trunks brought one hand to his left temple and shook his head. "And you say I'm crazy." He slipped his black boots on and grabbed his Capsule Corp airplane from Gohan's coffee table, slipping it into his pocket. "Let's fly ourselves. It'll be faster than taking a capsule plane, and no one is going to see us this late at night."

Gohan grabbed the black jacket draped over his desk chair and slipped it on. "So much for a relaxing night out."

* * *

Trunks rubbed his eyes and set yet another stack of papers aside, staring blearily at the piles and piles of printouts from his mother's lab as he stood up from his spot on his bedroom floor. He had long since given up keeping some semblance of order among the files. All he could hope to accomplish now was to separate those sheets he had already reviewed from those remaining. Gohan did not appear to be doing much better. The older boy was seated at the desk in Trunks' room, and piles of documents were stacked both on the desk and on the floor surrounding it.

"Trunks," Gohan began, not looking up from the sheets in his hand, "I've read this same page three times and I still have no idea what it says. We're not getting anywhere."

Trunks nodded wearily, sitting down at the edge of his bed. "Yeah," he agreed, "the words are just starting to blur together. Maybe we ought to take a break."

Gohan smiled, setting his papers down and turning to face Trunks. "That's the first sensible thing you've said all night." He let out a loud yawn before continuing. "We should probably get some sleep before tomorrow."

"Hate to break it to you," Trunks said, "but it's already tomorrow." He jutted one thumb toward the window, pointing out the streams of light that were beginning to filter their way into his room. "See? Daybreak."

"Great," Gohan said with a laugh as he stood from the desk. "Might as well stay up now."

"Yeah." Trunks paused as he took in the other teenager's exhausted appearance. Gohan's hair was mussed, his shirt was rumpled and wrinkled, and the overhead lights threw into sharp relief the dark circles under his eyes. The time-traveler suddenly felt guilty for having once again dragged Gohan into what was ultimately his responsibility.

"Um," Trunks said sheepishly, "you really didn't have to stay up with me, you know."

"After everything you've done for us? Come on, it's the least I could do."

"In any event, thank you." Trunks stood to join the other teenager. "I don't know about you, but I could use a caffeine fix."

Gohan smiled wearily in response. "Make that the second sensible thing you've said," he replied, stifling another yawn.

A few minutes later found the two teenagers seated at the kitchen table, each boy jealously guarding his mug of tea. Gohan had brewed a pot of tea for them to share—"Trust me," Trunks had explained, "there's a reason my mother has permanently banned me from the stove"—and they were both enjoying a desperately-needed dose of caffeine. Neither boy could be bothered with breakfast.

While Trunks nursed his mug, waiting for the hot liquid to cool down, Gohan quickly downed most of his drink, ignoring the slight scalding of the piping hot tea down his throat. He polished off the mug before walking over to the stove to pour himself a second mug from the still half-full kettle.

Gohan leaned back against the counter, enjoying his drink at a more leisurely pace as the initial caffeine rush kicked in. This wasn't the first time Gohan had ever pulled an all-nighter, and it certainly wasn't going to be the last, but these weren't exactly typical circumstances. He looked up from his mug, taking a long, hard look at the other teenager. Trunks was clearly still half-asleep, and was staring deeply into his tea mug between sips.

Gohan couldn't blame the other boy for being exhausted. They had both spent hours poring over the documents and data charts Trunks had brought with him from the other timeline, but Gohan didn't feel they had learned much that they didn't already know. There were clearly disturbances in the timestream, and they seemed to be isolated to Trunks' timeline, but that didn't bring them any closer to finding the cause.

He didn't want to admit it, but Trunks was probably right—Buu really _did_ seem like the most likely culprit, especially with the disturbances in the timeline seemingly centered around Earth. And Gohan knew enough about physics to realize that space and time didn't truly exist independently of one another; the fact that time was just another dimension of space was what made Trunks' multiple trips into their timeline possible. Time travel, after all, had been merely theoretical until Trunks had actually accomplished it.

But that didn't make Trunks' plan any less foolhardy or dangerous.

A few long moments passed before Gohan noticed the presence of a third person in the kitchen. The demi-Saiyan didn't realize he'd been staring into his own mug, lost in thought, until he heard a very irate-sounding clearing of the throat. That was when he looked up to see an equally irate-looking Vegeta glaring at him.

"Uh, sorry Vegeta," Gohan said, "did you say something."

"I said, you're blocking the coffee maker." The older man folded his arms and narrowed his gaze. "Now move."

"Right, sorry." Gohan immediately scooted a few feet down the edge of the counter. Though he rarely saw Vegeta this early in the morning, he'd heard enough horror stories from Goten, who'd spent more than his fair share of nights in the Capsule Corp compound, about what Vegeta was like when denied his morning coffee.

There was a loud click and a whirr as Vegeta pressed a few buttons down the side of the large, professional-grade coffee maker. Several seconds passed before a serving of steaming-hot coffee was dispensed into the mug at the machine's base. Both teenagers watched quietly as Vegeta grabbed his mug and stomped out of the kitchen, as abruptly as he had come in.

An odd, half-amused, half-distressed smile appeared on Trunks' face. "Oh, Great Kami," he said from his seat at the kitchen table, "I just thought of something."

Gohan turned his gaze to Trunks over the mug that rest between his palms. "What?"

Trunks waved his right hand with a flourish. "Vegeta, Prince of All Saiyans, intergalactic warrior, and over-caffeinated weapons developer. Because the world just isn't dangerous enough already."

Gohan stared for a moment before he hastily put the mug back onto the counter, spilling a good third of his drink. Both of his arms were soon wrapped around his abdomen as he gasped and wheezed through near-hysterical laughs.

His guffaws died down to soft chuckles as he stood up straight again, looking at the other smiling half-Saiyan. "You know," Gohan said, picking up his dripping mug again, "I don't think I've ever heard you make a joke before."

Trunks nodded, still smiling as he walked over to the counter. "Blame the sleep deprivation." He placed his mug into the sink before grabbing a paper towel to wipe down the counter, drying the hot tea that Gohan had spilled.

"Seriously," Gohan replied, wiping down his mug. Silence again fell between the two boys for a few moments before Gohan spoke again.

"Trunks, I really, _really_ wish you would reconsider."

"Reconsider what?"

"This crazy plan of yours. Going back to the future? Intentionally waking up Buu?"

Trunks sighed. "You have any better ideas?"

"No. I don't. But have you thought about what'll happen if you fail?"

Trunks shrugged one shoulder. "I'll die, I guess."

Gohan was taken aback at Trunks' casual tone. "You're being awfully nonchalant about this."

"It's nothing I haven't been through before."

Gohan bit his lower lip, thinking through the best way to reason with the other boy. "But you won't be able to come back this time," he began. "Not if you die in your timeline. Our Shenlong won't be able to bring you back, and your dragon is gone."

Trunks nodded. "I know."

"It's not just you, you know. If Buu takes you down, Earth is going to be helpless. He'll destroy everything. Everyone."

"Is that really any worse than letting time-space rip apart? I'm not going to let that happen, Gohan." Trunks folded his arms, staring down the other teenager. "Besides, what if he somehow wakes up on his own? He's too big a threat to just leave alone. Now that I know about him, I can risk leaving him buried in the Earth."

"But—"

"Just stop," Trunks said, raising one hand and cutting Gohan off. "Put yourself in my shoes. What would _you_ do? Would you seriously just leave Buu lying there? Or would you do whatever it took to eliminate him?"

Gohan's face fell as he considered Trunks' question. The younger boy was, once again, right; in Trunks' position, Gohan would almost certain carry out the very same plan Trunks was proposing now, regardless of the risks.

Gohan sighed. "Alright then," he said, placing his tea mug in the sink, "if you're serious about this, you'll need to know _exactly_ what you're getting yourself into."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, there's someone that knows more about Buu than anyone else on the planet. You still have that capsule plane?"

"Yeah," Trunks replied, "it's in my jacket pocket upstairs. Why?"

"Go grab it," Gohan said, gesturing toward the staircase outside the kitchen. "There's someone we need to pay a visit."

* * *

Trunks' eyes slowly opened as he felt the plane begin to come in for a landing. Gohan had input the coordinates for an address in Satan City and set the plane for autopilot; both teenagers had apparently nodded off during the flight.

"Gohan," he said, shaking the other boy awake. "Come on, we're here." Gohan had been oddly hesitant to explain where, exactly, they were going; he would only say that they were visiting "a friend in Satan City." Trunks had been puzzled by Gohan's evasiveness—the other boy wasn't usually so secretive—but had been too tired to press him on it.

Gohan loudly yawned as he stretched his arms upward, his eyes also opening as the plane landed on the grass. "Huh?" A puzzled look came over the older teen's face. "Where are we?"

Trunks rolled his eyes in response. "You tell me, Gohan. You're the one who input the address."

"What?" Gohan rubbed his eyes, not yet fully awake. "Right, Satan City, Buu, I remember now." He let out another loud yawn as Trunk turned off the engine of the plane, opening the hatch for them to exit.

Trunks stepped out onto the grass, observing his surroundings for the first time. Trunks wasn't sure what he was expecting to see when he stepped out of the plane, but this certainly wasn't it. They had found themselves on the oversized lawn of a very opulent mansion. Though its size didn't quite match the sprawling behemoth that was Capsule Corp, the house was far more ornate. Where Capsule Corp was a massive but simply designed compound, this home looked far more like an estate. Several marble fountains and large, well-trimmed hedges lined the enormous front lawn, while the house itself was made of fine-looking red brick and adorned with carved mahogany doors.

Whoever had built this house, Trunks thought, clearly wanted to show the world just how rich they were.

"Okay," Trunks said, capsulizing the plane as soon as Gohan had stepped out of it, "that's it. Where the hell are we?"

"Let's see if anyone's home," Gohan replied, steadfastly ignoring Trunks' question. He gestured for Trunks to follow him to the front door. Trunks reluctantly came along as Gohan climbed the marble steps to the door and rang the doorbell.

"Gohan," Trunks began again, "I'd really, really appreciate it if you'd tell me—" Trunks was cut off by a short, portly man in a butler's uniform opening the door.

"I'm sorry," the butler began without so much as looking at the two teenagers, "we are not accepting visitors for autographs—oh, Mister Son." The butler's demeanor instantly turned friendlier as recognition dawned on his wrinkled, bearded face. He opened the door wider, allowing the two teenagers to step into the foyer. "What brings you here? Miss Videl is in her dormitory at the university."

"Hi, Kimo," Gohan said. "Sorry to stop by unannounced, but I was actually looking for—"

"Gohan?" Trunks looked up to see who had entered the conversation. Standing on the large staircase leading into the foyer was a tall, muscular man with a bushy black mustache and a red silk training robe.

Trunks turned a steely, disbelieving stare onto Gohan. "Tell me that's not who I think it is."

"Uh, hi, Mister Satan," Gohan replied as the older man approached.

"Why so formal, m'boy? Just call me Champ." Mr. Satan clapped Gohan twice on the back, failing to see the look on Trunks' face as the younger teenager dramatically rolled his eyes. "So what brings you here?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Trunks muttered under his breath.

Gohan lightly elbowed Trunks in the side before responding. "Well, Mister—uh, Champ—it's kind of a long story. The short version is that my friend, er—" Gohan looked at Trunks, apparently unsure whether to use the time-traveler's real name or his adopted alias.

"Pikkon," Trunks interjected.

"Right, _Pikkon_, is starting a pretty intense training program, and—"

"Let me stop you right there," Mr. Satan said, raising one hand and cutting the demi-Saiyan off mid-sentence. "I don't just accept anyone into my training academy. And I gotta be honest, kid," he said, turning to the other teenager, "you look pretty scrawny to me."

"Believe me," Trunks said, barely attempting to mask his disdain, "I wouldn't _dream_ of applying."

"Actually, Champ," Gohan broke in, "we're here to see Buu."

"What? Oh, well, why didn't you say so?"

"We tried," Trunks said. He was about to say something far nastier when Gohan stepped on his toe—not hard enough to actually hurt him, of course, but enough that Trunks got the message. The other boy wanted him to bite his tongue.

"Kimo," Mr. Satan began, "go get Buu, would you?" The man turned back to the teenagers as the butler made his way out of the foyer. "Sorry I can't stay and chat, boys, but you actually caught me on my way to the dojo. A martial artist's work is never done, am I right?"

Trunks narrowed his eyes. "You would know."

"Good luck with the training, kid!" Mr. Satan replied, obviously missing the sarcasm in the teenager's voice. With that the man walked out the front door, leaving the two teenagers alone in the large foyer.

Trunks crossed his arms and frowned at his friend. "Why didn't you tell me we were going to Mister Satan's house?"

Gohan, at least, had the wherewithal to look apologetic. "I, uh, didn't think you'd go along with it if you knew."

"Damn right I wouldn't." Trunks glowered at the other demi-Saiyan. He knew Gohan meant well, but he didn't appreciate being deceived, especially when it meant dealing with an egomaniacal buffoon like Mr. Satan. "Wait," Trunks said, suddenly processing what Gohan had said, "did you say we're here to see _Buu_?"

"Umm, that's kind of a whole other story."

It was at that moment that Kimo returned with someone—or, perhaps more accurately, some_thing_—in tow. Trunks' eyes widened, his annoyance at his friend forgotten, as he saw a large, rotund, pink creature in a purple cape, black vest, loose white pants, and yellow boots and gloves enter the foyer. Trunks couldn't keep the expression of utter shock off his face as he took in the creature's smiling face, the numerous holes that seemed to line the top of his head, and his single, rubbery-looking antenna. But perhaps the most shocking thing about this being's presence was the aura of sheer power he exuded.

"Gohan!" the creature cried in a high-pitched, child-like voice as he waddled his way over to the two young men. "Buu here! Gohan come over to play?"

"What the—what—how—what—" Trunks sputtered as he turned his gaze repeatedly from Gohan to the bulbous pink demon and back again. "_Buu?_ Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

"No no!" The demon's grin grew wider as he responded. "Bad Buu gone! Me good Buu!"

"Gohan?" Trunks tone had changed from perplexed to pleading. "Can I please get an explanation? _Now?_"

"Uh..." Gohan began, "this Buu isn't evil. He was spit out by the evil Buu."

"There are two Buus?"

"Well," Gohan said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, "there was one Buu, and then there were two Buus, and then one ate the other one, and then—"

"You know what? I'm just going to follow your lead on this one."

"Look, the short version is that the Buu we fought split into a good version and one that was pure evil. The good one is a friend of ours now."

"Uh huh!" Buu chimed in, his grin somehow becoming even wider. "Bad Buu gone! Good Buu here!" the demon said in a sing-song tone. "Bad Buu gone! Good Buu here!" he repeated, bouncing slightly on large, rubbery legs. "Good Buu here, no more bad."

"Yeah, thanks Buu, we understand," Gohan said in an apparent attempt to quiet the demon. "Look, Buu, my friend really needs your help. Do you remember where it was you were buried when you first woke up?"

"Uh huh!" Buu said cheerfully. Trunks was beginning to suspect that the creature said everything in that same cheerful tone. "Buu take you there!"

Trunks followed along, too stunned to argue, as Buu led him and Gohan out the front door.

* * *

Trunks stepped out of the capsule plane with a sigh of relief as they reached their destination. Buu had been unable to sit still the entire plane ride, and the creature's constant bouncing left Trunks afraid that he would send the plane off course and into a crash landing. Though Trunks wasn't concerned that he or Gohan would be hurt—a plane crash was far milder than the sort of beating both teenagers had taken on a regular basis during training—but he was worried that such a crash could seriously injure any civilians that were unlucky enough to find themselves in their way.

Trunks capsulized the plane as Gohan and a still-grinning Buu stepped out onto the ground. Buu had led them out into a mountainous, desolate region in the middle of the desert; from what Trunks could sense, there wasn't a person for hundreds of miles around.

"This where Buu sleeped!" the demon said, pointing to one of the larger caverns. "That's where Babidi got Buu!"

"Thanks, Buu," Gohan said, turning again to Trunks. "Will you be able to remember where we are, exactly?"

"I think so," Trunks responded, looking around and taking in the scenery before him. "In any event, the coordinates are going to be stored in the plane's navigation system."

"That all?" Buu said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other? "You no want play now?"

"No, thanks Buu," Gohan said gently to the demon. "There is one more thing you can do for us, though."

"What that?"

Gohan shared a look with Trunks before proceeding. "Well, could you power up? To full strength?"

Buu's grin fell away, quickly replaced by a look of puzzlement on his blubbery face. "Huh? Gohan want fight?"

"No, I don't want to fight," Gohan said. "I just wanted Pikkon to see how strong you are. Can you do that for us?"

"Okay," Buu replied, a look of concentration coming over his face.

Trunks watched as the demon closed his eyes, his mouth curling into a deep frown. Several seconds passed in silence, yet Trunks could feel no change in the demon's energy.

"Gohan," he said to the other half-Saiyan, "is something supposed to be happening?"

"Just wait for it," Gohan assured the other boy, nodding toward Buu.

As if on cue, Trunks felt the ground beneath him begin to tremble. Boulders were shaken loose from the mountains and plateaus surrounding them and began rolling toward the ground. He felt an awe-inspiring, strangely ethereal _ki_, one quite unlike anything he'd ever sensed before, grow and surround him.

And suddenly, Trunks understood what Gohan had been trying to tell him. Buu's power wasn't simply overwhelming.

It was otherworldly.

* * *

It was well into the afternoon before Gohan and Trunks arrived back at Capsule Corp. They had parted ways with Buu not long after the demon's demonstration, leaving Buu to return to Mr. Satan's mansion as they flew back to the Briefs residence. Despite his exhaustion, Trunks had unable to sleep on the plane ride back to West City. There was simply too much on his mind.

He understood, now, why Gohan was worried for him.

The older demi-Saiyan joined Trunks at the kitchen table, handing him another much-needed cup of tea. "You really don't like him, do you?"

"Who?" Trunks said, sitting up. He hadn't noticed that he'd let his head sink into his arms on the tabletop; clearly he was more tired than he'd realized. "Buu? Uh, he was fine, I guess." Trunks took a sip of the strong, unsweetened tea. "I just wish you'd warned me before we got there."

"Not Buu," Gohan said. "Mister Satan."

"No kidding," Trunks said, rolling his eyes at the mention of the popular fighter. "What's to like? He's a self-inflated nincompoop. And a liar on top of that. Look, Videl seems great, but her father—"

"You should give people a chance," Gohan interrupted.

"Give people a chance," Trunks repeated, incredulous. "You were nine years old and you risked _everything_ to take Cell down. Goku gave his life that day. I _died_ that day. And that idiot gets famous off everyone else's sacrifices?" Trunks shook his head. "I don't know how you can be so forgiving."

"It's like I told you before. He really did help Vegeta and my dad out when they were fighting Majin Buu. And he's been putting up the good Buu for the last three years now." Gohan shrugged. "Credit where credit is due, right?"

"Anyway," Trunks said, changing the subject, "I don't really think that's what's important right now." Trunks let out another long sigh. "You'd think I'd be used to this shit by now. Buu is . . . unreal."

"I tried to tell you," Gohan said. "That's why I wanted you to meet him firsthand." Gohan took a loud gulp from his mug before continuing. "I hate to say it, but I think you're right. I think taking out Buu might be your only option."

"He's a lot stronger than I thought."

"And he's still weaker than the Buu I fought three years ago. Which is why you shouldn't even think about heading back to your time without mastering Super Saiyan Two first. If you're going to wake him, you have to _end_ him."

"Gohan, my world was terrorized for almost twenty years by a pair of monsters. I won't let that happen again."

Gohan looked away from the other boy, staring aimlessly toward the wall. "I have to be honest, Trunks, I'm not sure you'll be able to take him alone."

"I've heard it before," Trunks said, setting his mug down. "But I don't think I have any other choice."

"I don't think so either," came Gohan's quiet response. He sat in silence for a few moments, gathering his thoughts before speaking up again. "So what's the plan?"

"I'll stay here to train," Trunks responded. "When I'm ready—_really _ready—I go back for Buu."

Neither teen heard the sound of two small pairs of feet running upstairs.

* * *

Eleven, Trunks had decided, was a very strange age.

Biologically, he knew, he was what his mother referred to as an "adolescent." As near as Trunks could tell, that meant being old enough to be held responsible for his occasional bad decisions—say, for instance, replacing his father's much-needed coffee with decaf or mixing his father's shampoo with a particularly potent neon-pink hair dye—but being treated like a child when it came to things like deciding what was an appropriate mid-afternoon snack. So if Trunks wanted, say, a chocolate chip cookie (or a dozen) as opposed to a "healthy" sandwich loaded with smoked meats and _vegetables_, he had to do so without his mother's knowledge. It wasn't that he didn't like sandwiches, exactly, but what kind of lunatic would choose smoked turkey over ice cream and cookies?

Other than his dad, anyway.

Trunks set the video game controller he'd been playing with down on the floor, looking at his best friend. "Hey, Goten," he began, "wanna go downstairs and get a snack?" It wasn't as though Trunks had needed to ask; Goten had been over for almost two hours, and was almost certainly getting hungry. Even Trunks' voracious appetite couldn't quite match Goten's.

Predictably, the younger boy's eyes lit up at the suggestion. "Do I!" Goten instantly dropped his own video game controller and leapt up. "Let's go ask your mom."

"No way," Trunks said, standing to join his friend. "She doesn't like me having too many sweets. Let's just sneak down to the kitchen and get it ourselves."

"Umm," Goten said, raking one hand through his unruly black spikes, "won't we get into trouble?"

"Goten, when have I _ever_ gotten you into trouble?"

"Umm," Goten repeated, scratching at his head. "Is that an actual question? Because I don't think I'll be able to remember _every_ time."

"Oh, shut up," Trunks huffed. "Do you want cookies and ice cream or not?"

"Yeah!" Goten exclaimed, grinning. Trunks rolled his eyes in return; Goten was so easy to please sometimes.

Trunks gestured to Goten, bidding him to follow. The two boys quietly made their way out of Trunks' bedroom and down the stairs, looking left and right to make sure no one, especially Bulma, saw them.

Trunks grinned to himself as he led the younger boy toward the kitchen. Trunks had always been the bolder of the two of them. Whether it was pulling a prank on his ill-tempered father or plotting something more elaborate—such as their brilliant plan of sneaking into the adults' competition at the Global Martial Arts Tournament three years ago—it was always up to Trunks to come up with their best schemes.

Trunks smirked at the memory. Goten had been so nervous that day. The younger boy hadn't understood when they first arrived that none of the other competitors in the children's tournament, save for Trunks himself, would put up a halfway decent fight. His nervousness was understandable; he spent most of his free time playing with Trunks, and Goten had grown up not fully realizing how unusual he really was. Trunks, by contrast, had frequent contact with other children, and had learned at an early age that his strength was anything but normal.

Trunks' smirk fell away as he heard two voices coming from the kitchen. He motioned with his hand for Goten to follow him as he quietly approached the bottom of the staircase.

"I have to be honest, Trunks," the two boys heard Gohan say. "I'm not sure you'll be able to take him alone."

"Huh?" Goten asked. "What are they—"

"Shh!" the younger Trunks said abruptly, trying to listen in on the older boys conversation. "Let's listen." They both pressed their bodies against the wall, each on one side of the entrance to the kitchen, making sure that they could hear the teenagers' conversation without being seen.

Gohan muttered something inaudible inside the kitchen. Several seconds passed before the boys were able to hear him ask, "So what's the plan?"

"I'll stay here to train," Trunks heard his older counterpart reply. "When I'm ready—_really _ready—I go back for Buu."

"Buu?" Goten said quietly, switching his gaze from the older Trunks to the younger. "What's he—"

"Shh!" Trunks repeated, cutting Goten off.

"This isn't going to be easy," Gohan said, apparently unaware of the two young eavesdroppers standing outside the kitchen. "Ascending isn't even the most difficult part. Super Saiyan Two transformations aren't easy to control. It's going to be like learning to be a Super Saiyan all over again."

"Come on," the young Trunks said in a harsh whisper, gesturing to Gohan. "Let's go upstairs."

"But—"

"_Now._" Trunks grabbed Goten by the hand, dragging the younger boy along as he rushed back up to his room.

Goten frowned as they reentered Trunks bedroom. "What's going on?" He stared at his best friend as Trunks took a seat on the corner of his bed. "Didn't you want to get a snack?"

"Forget the snack!" Trunks snapped. "Can't you think about anything but your stomach?"

Goten's face fell as he looked down at his shoes. "You don't have to yell," the younger boy said, shuffling his feet. "It was your idea to begin with."

Trunks folded his arms. "Yeah, I know, sorry," he said, kicking at his bedroom floor. "I've just lost my appetite, okay?"

"Uh, okay," Goten said. He walked over to the older boy's bed, taking a seat next to him on the edge of the mattress. "What do you think they were talking about?"

"I'm not sure," Trunks said, the gears in his mind beginning to turn. "But . . ." He trailed off, staring up into his ceiling.

"But what?" Goten finally asked, breaking the silence.

"Whatever it is," Trunks said, "I don't think it's good."


	9. Tipping Points

**Percussion**  
**Chapter 8**

**Tipping Points**

* * *

The Monday morning sun shone into Bulma's bedroom as she lowered the lid of her suitcase, struggling to zip the luggage shut. She managed to pull the slider about halfway around before it stopped, becoming hopelessly stuck. Her slim fingers tugged vainly at the tab for a few moments before she gave up, unzipping the bag entirely and taking out a few items.

After all, she figured, she didn't _really_ need three extra pairs of shoes for a two day trip. She just liked to be prepared.

Bulma rubbed her eyes, careful not to smudge her makeup. She had spent most of the last two-and-a-half weeks holed up in her lab, trying to find some clue to the mysterious ills plaguing the elder Trunks' timeline. As a result, she'd left most of the day-to-day affairs of running the business side of Capsule Corp to other executives. But her research was quickly going nowhere, and this meeting was far too important to be left to junior managers. If all went well, it could be her ticket to acquiring a major research and development rival in Pepper City.

The woman set the shoes and a few other things aside before returning to close the suitcase. She probably could have asked her husband to help with the task, but even assuming he would be willing, he would probably break the suitcase while he was at it. The same went for her young son. Meanwhile, she hadn't seen the eighteen-year-old Trunks all morning.

Bulma hummed to herself as she stepped into her bathroom to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything. The meeting wouldn't take place until the next afternoon, but she wanted to get settled in Pepper City so she could prepare for the meeting in the comfort of a hotel room, rather than in the cabin of a passenger train.

She looked around her room a last time. Finally, satisfied that she hadn't forgotten anything, she walked into the hallway and toward her eleven-year-old son's room.

Bulma shook her head as she strode down the corridor. She had promised to take Trunks with her the next time she went on a trip to Pepper City, and now the time had come to make good. The city had one of the most famous amusement parks in the region, and while she couldn't understand why a boy who could fly at lightning speeds would be so excited by the prospect of a roller coaster and some cotton candy, a promise was still a promise.

_Ah well_, she thought to herself. She had never pretended to understand the way little boys' minds work.

She knocked on the door, cracking it open slowly. "Honey?" She saw Trunks sitting on his bed, still in his pajamas and seemingly staring at the light fixture on his ceiling. "Are you packed yet? Our train leaves at one."

"Huh?" The boy shook his head, looking turning to his mother. "Oh, hi mom, did you say something?"

"Trunks?" She walked over to her son's bed, a slight worry coming over her. Trunks wasn't usually one for staring off into space; something was bothering him. "Is everything okay?" She sat down at the edge of the bed, looking carefully at her young son. "Is something bothering you, sweetheart?"

Trunks frowned in response. "No, not really. Um, have you seen, uh, other-me around today?"

Bulma would have laughed at her son's phrasing, had she not been concerned about what could possibly be on his mind. "No, why?" She wasn't exactly surprised that the teenager hadn't made an appearance yet. He had looked positively exhausted when she ran into him the evening before, and she assumed that he'd had a late Saturday night out with Gohan and his friends. The time traveler probably needed the rest.

"Do you know when he's planning on going back?"

"What?" Bulma had been afraid of this. She could understand why Trunks might be disturbed by the presence of an older, alternate version of himself in his own home, but she had hoped—based on how they seemed to be getting along—that it wouldn't become an issue.

"No," Bulma continued, "he hasn't said anything. Why? Did something happen between you two?"

"Um, kinda." Trunks bit his lip, obviously hesitant to reveal whatever was on his mind.

"Trunks, if something is wrong, I need to know."

"I heard him talking to Gohan yesterday. He said something about . . ." Trunks trailed off, looking down at his bedsheets.

A whole new worry settled in as she took in her son's pensive features. "Trunks, what did he say?"

The boy looked back up at his mother. "He said something about going back for Buu."

The tension in Bulma's chest gave way to full-blown shock. "What? When?"

"I don't know," Trunks said, fiddling with the edge of his bedsheet. "I don't think he said. I was kind of listening in." The boy looked out at his window. "Whatever, I shouldn't have told you."

"Of course you had to tell me!" Bulma shook her head, stunned that her son would even consider keeping this sort of information from her. "I'm going to go talk to him. You get packed up in the meantime, okay?"

The child turned back toward her. "Are you still going to Pepper City today?"

"I need to," she replied. "Do you still want to come with me? You don't have to."

"I mean, yeah, I'd like to, if you're going anyway."

Bulma smiled at her son, unable to help but notice the subtle expression of guilt on his face. "And you were right to tell me about this. Now get packed."

* * *

"You get out of bed this instant."

The teenager opened his eyes. The first sight that greeted him was a very irate-looking Bulma standing over him, looking for all the world like she was about to start screaming at the teenager.

"Mother?" He yawned, sitting up in his bed. "What time is it?"

"It's ten-thirty. Get up now, I need to talk to you."

Trunks tossed the blankets off his body, but did not move from his spot on the bed. "Wow, late. Must have been more tired than I thought yesterday."

Bulma's frown deepened in response. "I'll bet you were."

Trunks frowned as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He couldn't imagine why his mother would be so irritated with him. Certainly, this was later than he usually slept, but she was the one constantly telling him to get more rest. "I just didn't get much sleep Saturday night. Really, any sleep."

"And why is that?"

"I was with Gohan," Trunks said around a yawn.

"Doing what?"

"We went to a party with some of his school friends."

"And what did you do after?"

Trunks hesitated, suddenly suspicious that his mother, true to form, knew more than she was letting on. "What do you mean?"

"You know damn well what I mean!" Bulma folded her arms, staring down at her teenaged son. "What's this insane plan about Buu you've cooked up?"

Trunks' hunch had been right. "How'd you find out about that?"

"A little bird told me. That's not important, Trunks. What's important is that you're planning on going out and getting yourself killed!"

"Mother, I—"

Bulma cut him off. "Why would you even _think_ about doing something like this?"

"It's because—"

"Of all the crazy, idiotic—"

"_Mother!_" Trunks returned his mother's scowl. He very rarely raised his voice to Bulma—be it in this timeline or his own—but he needed her to listen. "I think Buu is the trigger we've been looking for."

That shocked Bulma out of her anger. "What?" She frowned again, though this time the expression was pensive rather than angry. "There are plenty of differences between your timeline and ours. Why would Buu be the cause?"

"Because," Trunks began, "Buu is a magical being. You're the one who kept insisting how magical energy can have some serious ripple effects."

Bulma sat down on the teenager's bed, taking in the boy's words. She placed on hand on her chin and hummed quietly, clearly processing Trunks' theory.

A few long moments passed in silence before Trunks spoke again. "Mother?"

"That theory makes some sense," Bulma said, though it seemed she was speaking to herself more than to the time-traveler. "It also might explain why the dragon wasn't able to repair the time stream. Majin Buu's just too powerful for the dragon to kill."

"And it also could explain why it seems that the Earth is at the center of the problem."

Bulma nodded thoughtfully at Trunks. "Maybe, but we still have the same problem with time travel. I'm not sure the time stream is stable enough for you to be able to risk going back to the future yet."

"Which is why I need you to keep researching while I train here. I know it's a lot to ask, mother, but I need your help here."

Bulma sighed, standing up and adjusting her sweater. "Just promise me you won't decide anything until I get back."

"Back? From where?"

"I'm going to Pepper City on business. Trunks is coming with me."

Trunks looked quizzically at his mother. "What on earth for?"

"Oh, I promised to take him with me the next time I went there. He's been asking me for ages to take me out to that amusement park out there, and I didn't want him flying out to Pepper City on his own."

Trunks' eyebrows shot straight up to his hairline. "You're not talking about Super World, are you?"

"Yeah, why?"

Trunks shook his head, forcing down the memory of his first encounter with the Androids 17 and 18 in that very amusement park. Super World may have been the site of one of the androids' most devastating attacks in his timeline, but here the place was just another theme park. "No reason."

"If you say so," Bulma said. She had obviously picked up on the sudden tension in her teenage son, but seemed content not to press Trunks on what was bothering him. "Anyway, we'll be back Wednesday. Promise me you won't try anything reckless in the meantime, okay?"

Trunks smiled at that. "Mother, even assuming I'm right, I won't be ready to take on Buu for a while. I'm just going to get started on training."

Bulma nodded, apparently satisfied with his response. "Just don't do anything crazy, alright?"

Trunks promised that he wouldn't as Bulma walked out of the bedroom. He smiled to himself as he climbed out of bed.

_Really,_ he wondered, stepping toward the closet to get dressed, _what even counts as "crazy" around here anymore?_

* * *

Trunks tightened the waistband of his grey cargo pans and gathered his black tank top from the home it had made on his bedroom floor. The clothes he had been wearing when he'd made his trip into the past weren't exactly clean, but they were all he had for the time being. Everything else was in the laundry at the moment.

It was just past noon, and his mother and his younger self had already left for the train station. When he had asked why she wouldn't simply take a capsule plane directly to her hotel in Pepper City, Bulma responded that she wanted to get some work done during travel. Trunks could understand that—he had kept her so busy with his own mission that she had probably fallen far behind on her corporate duties. The young time-traveler knew he had already asked so much of his family, and yet here he was, about to ask for yet another favor.

_Oh well_, the teenager thought as he slipped his boots on. It couldn't be helped now. If he wanted to stand a chance against Buu—a Buu that was, apparently, far more dangerous than the demon he had met the day before—he would need every advantage he could get.

Trunks dashed down the stairs, anxious to see his father. He walked through the long, wide corridor to the back of the house, only to find the door to the Gravity Room unlocked and the chamber empty. He thought to himself for a moment before making his way downstairs and toward the far end of the basement.

Trunks knocked on the windowless metal door. There was no response. Though he couldn't see inside, Trunks could hear the whirr of the massive computers even from outside the lab; he doubted it was empty. Trunks knocked again, louder this time.

"What?" came the irate response. Trunks shrugged, taking that as an invitation to open the door.

He entered the lab to find Vegeta glaring at him from a large desk. The desk's surface was strewn with papers, and two monitors had several computerized diagrams of what appeared to be double-barreled ray guns. Various weapons prototypes were scattered along the lab tables, each looking more dangerous than the last. Trunks again found himself wondering what his mother could possibly have been thinking, having Vegeta take on the role of one of Capsule Corp's chief weapons developers. Surely the man left enough destruction in his wake as it was.

"Well?" Vegeta barked out, turning his chair to fully face his teenaged son. "Are you just going to stand there all day or are you going to ask for something?"

"Right, of course." Trunks shook his head, pulling his gaze away from the various lasers and blasters. "Have you spoken to Mother at all today?"

"No," Vegeta replied, turning back to his simulations on his monitor.

"So she hasn't explained my plan to you?"

"Boy, I just told you haven't seen her all day. Stop being an idiot."

"Well, we think we've figured out what's causing the timestream instabilities."

Vegeta did not look away from his computer screen. "So you'll be heading back to your own time, then."

"Not exactly. I'm going to have to do quite a bit of training before I can go back."

"And why is that?"

"Because we're pretty sure Buu is what is causing the instabilities."

That seemed to grab Vegeta's attention. "What's that?"

"Buu was buried under the surface of the earth thousands of years ago. I have to get strong enough that I can destroy his shell. And kill him if I manage to wake him up in the process."

A dull surprise came over the Saiyan Prince's face. "You're actually considering seeking out Buu. Alone."

"Yes." Trunks took a deep breath, steeling his nerves before continuing. "Which is why I'm here. If I want to take out Buu, I'm going to have to get much stronger. And I'm going to need to ascend to Super Saiyan Two."

Vegeta stood from his chair. "And you want me to train you."

Trunks nodded. "Please, Father. I know it's a lot to ask, but if we're to have any hope of saving my timeline, I have to do this."

Vegeta folded his arms, looking the teenager up and down. "You're serious about this."

"As serious as I've ever been."

Vegeta cast a sidelong glance at his desk. Several seconds passed before the man responded. "I have some work to do in the lab. Meet me in the gravity room in three hours."

* * *

Trunks stood in the middle of the Gravity Room, posed in sparring form. He frowned, doing his best to keep his balance in this gravity. Vegeta had set the room to simulate five-hundred times the Earth's normal gravity, a significant increase from the 300-G setting he had been using during their earlier sparring matches.

Unlike the teenager, Vegeta did not seem to be bothered by the intensity of the gravity. He turned around and joined Trunks in the middle of the room, taking a stance that mirrored that of his son.

"Come at me," Vegeta said flatly. "I want to see what you can do."

The teenager nodded in response. A moment later he was charging his father, his fist outstretched. The older man easily dodged the blow, taking the defensive as Trunks let out a barrage of kicks and punches.

Trunks pulled away from his father, making his way around the man's backside before coming at him with his elbow. This time, he managed to land a blow in the man's side. Vegeta stumbled slightly before turning to face his son, again taking a defensive posture as he blocked the teenager's attacks.

It was Vegeta who pulled away this time, backing up against the side of the chamber as he sized up his son. "Not bad."

Trunks bit back a smile. "I've kept up with my training."

Trunks was taken aback by the scowl that suddenly appeared on the older man's face. Trunks felt the man's _ki_ spike as the man powered up. Vegeta had not transformed—his hair and eyes were still quite black—but there was an unmistakable glow of power around him.

The Saiyan growled out his next words. "Not enough."

Trunks suddenly felt a sharp pain in his abdomen. It took him a long moment to realize he'd just taken a punch to the gut. He backed up, catching his breath before he saw his father coming at him with another blow.

Trunks ducked hastily, now finding himself on the defensive. He tried to block the series of kicks and blows, but his father's speed was too much. Trunks pulled away, flying up into the center of the room in an attempt to regain the offensive.

Vegeta quickly followed suit, flying toward the ceiling. Trunks narrowly dodged another punch, ducking below the man. Seeing an opportunity to gain the upper hand, he came at Vegeta's back with a kick.

Before Trunks could react, he found his ankle locked inside his father's vise grip. Not only had the older man managed to block what Trunks thought would be a surprise attack, but he had managed to immobilize the teenager in the process. A split second passed before Trunks felt a blow to his breastbone. The next thing the teenager knew, he was hurtling downwards.

Trunks hit the metal floor with a loud clang. He rose on unsteady feet, looking up at his father.

"I haven't even transformed," Vegeta said, looking down on Trunks as he continued to float several feet above the teenager. "Surely you can do better than this."

Trunks stood panting. He shouldn't have been surprised; his father _had_ been training daily for the past ten years. The gravity also gave the Saiyan a decisive advantage in battle. Though Trunks was largely strong enough to withstand the intense gravity, he hadn't had nearly as much experience as his father training in this setting. Vegeta had obviously been holding back when they'd sparred before.

Trunks was just going to have to step his game up.

The boy glowered at his father. With no small amount of difficulty he flew back up into the center of the room, going on the attack. Again, Vegeta seemed to block his blows effortlessly, sliding around Trunks' kicks and punches as he made his way back down to the floor.

Trunks dove, intent on landing a blow on his father. Once more, before he knew what was happening, his found himself hurtling through the room, this time toward the ceiling.

He tried to stop himself midair before making impact, but hit the domed ceiling with another loud _thud_. Trunks was suddenly grateful for the intense gravity. Had they been fighting under lighter conditions, he would have almost certainly gone straight through the ceiling of the gravity chamber with that last hit. He took a moment to turn himself around, rubbing his sore neck as he stared down at his father.

"You could always transform into a Super Saiyan," Vegeta said, looking up briefly at his son. It was clear that the older man hadn't even broken a sweat. "If you can't keep up with me at this level, that is."

Trunks felt a glare come over his face. His father was taunting him now. Without thinking, he dove down again.

He was expecting his father to block the blow. Instead, the man dodged his attack entirely, disappearing from Trunks' view. Before he could see where Vegeta had gone, he felt the nerves at the base of his spine come afire.

Trunks cried out as he landed on the floor yet again. He lay on his side, gasping as he felt shockwaves shooting through his every nerve. He twitched involuntarily as an almost electric pain radiated from his spine and through his body.

_My tail scar_, the teenager quickly realized. He couldn't remember ever having had a tail—his mother had it removed from its base as soon as he was born—but the sensitive group of nerves there remained. Of course Vegeta would know about that particular weakness.

Trunks struggled to get his shuddering limbs under control as he rose again. He had lost this fight, and lost it badly. His father had him outmatched on every scale.

Trunks placed his hands on his knees, barely propping himself up as he took a moment to catch his breath. "I guess this match is over."

His heart skipped a beat as he heard Vegeta's response. "Wrong answer." Again, before he could react, he saw the man rushing at him.

Trunks dodged, trying to shield his body with his forearms. He felt his knees suddenly give way; his father had kicked his legs out from under him.

Vegeta's voice echoed through the room. "We aren't finished here."

Trunks stood again, once more forcing his body into sparring form. He vainly tried to keep his head up, but found his neck craning and his shoulders slumping under the weight of the intense gravity and his own injuries. The fluorescent lights above him burned, suddenly seeming far too bright for his eyes.

The boy raised his arms, attempting to block another impending blow from his father. Vegeta effortlessly knocked the teenager's limbs out of the way, landing another punch in his vulnerable chest.

Trunks quickly sank to his hands and knees. His vision went black as he let out a wet cough. It took a few seconds for his sight to clear; when it did, he saw splatters of red against a steely grey background. He reached for his mouth, wiping it with the back of his hand. It also came back smeared with red.

It had been a mistake, Trunks realized, not to become a Super Saiyan when he'd had the chance. Now he couldn't muster the energy to transform, even if he had wanted to.

"That isn't all you've got," Vegeta growled out, knocking Trunks to the domed wall of the gravity room with a single kick. "Fight back."

The teenager winced as he hit the wall, unable to tell whether the harsh, metallic noise he heard was the sound of the impact of his body against the side of the room or simply the ringing of his ears. He used one hand to prop himself against the wall, trying to get an even footing as he struggled to catch his breath.

Before he could get steady on his own feet, he felt his body dragged up against the wall by his wrists. Trunks soon found himself staring in to an emotionless pair of pitch-black eyes. Trunks vainly twisted his arms, trying to get loose, but he was hopelessly pinned.

"I said, _fight back_."

Trunks again pulled at his arms, trying to free his wrists from his father's grasp. He needn't have bothered struggling. Mere seconds later, Trunks felt his body hurtling yet again to the other side of the gravity chamber. He felt his back crack against the wall as he made impact. He wondered, idly, if the agony he felt as he landed facedown on the floor was a broken rib.

Strange, the last time he landed against the wall had seemed so loud. Now he could hear nothing at all over the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

Vegeta's next words, however, came through loud and clear. "Get. Up."

"I . . ." Trunks took a deep, shuddering breath, using one arm to prop himself up against the floor. Out came the words the boy thought he had banished from his vocabulary. "I can't."

"Again. Wrong answer."

Trunks didn't bother to block the next kick that came toward his midsection. He felt himself roll along the floor from the impact, landing on his side somewhere near the middle of the room. His body convulsed as he felt another strike at the cluster of nerves at his tailbone. It was a strange sensation; even though he could tell that his muscles were seizing from the abuse, it didn't hurt nearly as much as it had the first time around.

_That's odd_, Trunks thought to himself as he vaguely felt another kick to his stomach_. _The bright lights of the gravity suddenly seemed very, very dim.

* * *

_Fucking. Lights. _

Trunks groaned quietly, slowly opening his eyes as they adjusted to the onslaught of the overhead lamps. He was lying on his back, a cool, hard surface beneath him. His joints creaked as he struggled to sit up and get his bearings.

It took Trunks a few seconds to realize that he was in the Gravity Room. He carefully shook his head, recalling how it was that he had gotten there. The room was empty save for his presence, and the gravity generator had been turned off. His father had left him where he'd fallen unconscious.

_Typical_, Trunks thought as he gathered the strength to rise to his feet. He didn't particularly feel like moving, but the thought of his bed was far more inviting that the prospect of sleeping on the Gravity Room floor.

He instantly regretted his decision as he took the first step toward the exit. His knees cried out and buckled under the pressure. Trunks stumbled, but manage not to fall.

Against his better judgment, he looked behind him. Red smears marked where he had been laying and streaked behind him. A particularly annoying voice in the teenager's head wondered if Bulma would mind the mess. Trunks laughed at the thought, despite the pain it caused in his chest and stomach.

"Come on, legs," he murmured, taking another step toward the door. "Walk. That's what you do." He almost laughed again at the idea of giving his own limbs a pep talk, but thought better of it as another spasm shot through his abdomen.

Slowly and carefully, he began walking thorough the corridor to the stairway. Though he'd noticed from the moment of his arrival how much larger this place was compared to his own home, Trunks had never really appreciated just how massive the Capsule Corp compound was until he found himself struggling to force his body up to his room.

He gripped the handrail of the staircase as he all but dragged himself up the stairs. This wasn't the worst Trunks had ever felt—after all, the boy had died before—but it certainly made his top-ten list. A quick glance in the direction of the window revealed that it was dark outside. Trunks didn't know how long he had been out, but it had to have been at least a few hours. It had been mid-afternoon when he and his father had started training, if one could call it that. Trunks couldn't help looking in the hall mirror as he finally reached the top floor of the compound.

He was stunned at his own appearance. If it was possible, he actually looked worse than he felt.

His eye, unlike most of his body, hadn't hurt too terribly, and he could see out of it fairly clearly, but it was swollen and purple. His lower lip was split, also looking unnaturally plump and inflamed. Dried blood caked his right temple and ran down his jawline. Patches of reddish-brown grime, also dried blood, clumped in his long hair. His tank top was torn and hanging in tatters off his chest, and the exposed skin was covered in bruises and caked in yet more blood.

He was a wreck.

He shook his head, resuming the long trek toward his bedroom. He tried to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

It wasn't that he had been injured. Pain was nothing new to the demi-Saiyan. It was the way Vegeta had continued to pummel him, well after he was beaten. The way his father had left him a bloodied mess on the Gravity Room floor. It was as though Vegeta was punishing him for not being able to keep up with the older man, despite the fact that Vegeta had a ten-year advantage.

Trunks shook his head, focusing on getting his battered form into bed. His heart began to pound in his ears as he saw a familiar form round the corner.

Trunks stopped in his tracks as Vegeta stepped toward him. After a few paces, the older man stopped as well, looking the teenager up and down. A heavy silence descended between the two of them as Trunks made eye contact with his father.

Vegeta was the one to break the silence.

"You look a mess." His voice was an impassive monotone.

Trunks' eyes widened at the statement. He hadn't been angry with his father until that moment. Now, however, he could feel his temper beginning to flare.

"Thanks to you," he ground out.

Vegeta raised an eyebrow at his son. "If I recall correctly, you approached me," he observed calmly.

"Yeah, to train me." Trunks wondered if his voice sounded as weak and raspy to his father as it did to his own ears. "What was beating me completely senseless supposed to accomplish?"

Vegeta rolled his eyes at the accusation. "It isn't my fault that you can't keep up."

Trunks' breath caught in his throat. His earlier suspicions were right after all—Vegeta was angry that his son had fallen behind.

Trunks had no time to muster a reaction before his father continued. "I told you before not to waste my time."

_He still thinks I'm a waste of his time._

Trunks swallowed loudly as his throat tightened. "You've got a decade's worth of training up on me."

"You are the one who requested more intense training, brat. Or was that just adolescent posturing?"

"Postur . . ." Trunks trailed off, genuinely stunned by his father's words. "I've never been _anything_ but sincere with you." He tried not to sound stung.

"Clearly," the man said dismissively. "You'll be fine in a few days, tops. Stop behaving like a child." He stepped around the teenager, walking toward the staircase. Despite himself, Trunks turned around to watch his father.

"Besides," Vegeta continued as he made his way down the stairs. "Saiyans increase in strength when they recover from serious injuries." He didn't bother to spare a glance back toward the teenager. "You should know that by now." Seconds later, he disappeared from Trunks view.

Trunks stood dumbly in the hallway for a few moments, rubbing his sore wrists as he processed his father's words. His stomach was growling—logically, he knew he should probably get something to eat—but the thought of food made him ill.

Slowly, he turned around, resuming the long trek to his bedroom. After what seemed like an eternity, he reached the door. He turned the handle, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. Gingerly, he peeled off his bloodied tank top and ruined pants before climbing into his bed. He felt filthy; ideally, he would have taken a shower, but he doubted he could muster the energy to make it to the bathroom, let alone clean himself off.

Trunks closed his eyes, his mind swimming as he lay his head on the pillow. He felt an odd burning in his chest, one that had nothing to do with his injuries. The exhaustion that wracked the young man's body clashed against the turmoil in his mind. His thoughts swirled against the backdrop of the beating he'd just received, playing over against his closed eyelids.

He tried to ignore his anger at Vegeta, for his utter brutality and coldness. His anger at himself, for expecting anything different. His dejection over the fact that, after all was said and done, his father still considered him an inferior. A child. _Weak_.

But as consciousness slipped away from the young demi-Saiyan, what dominated his mind was a profound sense of shame. Because he couldn't help but think that perhaps his father was right.


	10. Tread Lightly

**Percussion****  
Chapter 9**

**Tread Lightly**

* * *

True enough, Trunks was good as new in four days' time. Unfortunately, it was less than two days before Bulma and the eleven-year-old Trunks returned to West City.

By the time he fell asleep on Monday evening, Trunks had resigned himself to the fact that this would not be a pleasant week. When he woke up the next morning from a fitful night of sleep, his every joint and muscle ached, and the churning in his stomach hadn't improved in the slightest. He stumbled out of the bed, dragging himself toward the bathroom in hopes that a shower would help soothe his aching body. He steadfastly avoided looking at his reflection as he entered the bathroom and reached for the shower taps. He set the water to a lukewarm temperature; he usually preferred his showers on the hotter side, but reasoned that cooler water would probably sting less, given the open wounds and scrapes on his body.

Trunks simply stood under the running water for several long minutes, letting it loosen and dislodge the dried blood that still caked his hair and skin. He leaned against the glass door of the shower, closing his eyes as another wave of dizziness hit him. Though the pain had ebbed significantly since the night before, the fatigue had not.

He waited for the wooziness to fade before grabbing a bottle of shampoo and washing out the remaining blood and sweat that had clumped on his hair and scalp. He did his best to ignore the lather stinging the scratches on his face and shoulders. Finally, satisfied that he was reasonably clean, he rinsed out the shampoo, turned off the water, and stepped out of the shower.

The teenager quickly dried off and wrapped his towel around his waist. He couldn't help glancing at the mirror on his way out. Simply washing off the dried blood had done wonders, but he still looked like a disaster. His chest was a tapestry of black and blue, and though the swelling in his lip and his eye had gone down, they were still an angry purple.

Trunks heard, rather than felt, his stomach growl as he walked back toward his bedroom. He shot a glance in the direction of the stairs. He knew he should eat something, but wasn't sure he had the energy to make it down to the kitchen. He stood in the hallway for a few minutes as the desire for food battled with the desire for sleep. Sleep quickly won out, and Trunks barely managed to slip on a clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt before collapsing into bed.

The young man didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until a sharp knock on his bedroom door woke him up. He blinked, trying to clear the haze of sleep from his eyes. He couldn't imagine who would be at the door; his mother and younger self were still in Pepper City, and he doubted his father had any desire to speak to him.

His curiosity got the better of him. "Come in," he called out, slowly sitting up in his bed. Strangely, his nap hadn't taken the edge off his exhaustion. If anything, he felt weaker than he'd been before he'd fallen asleep.

"Hey," he heard his mother's voice say as she opened the door. "Still asleep?"

Trunks shook his head, surprised at his mother's presence. "You're home early."

She stepped into the dim room. "I caught an earlier train back."

"I thought you weren't getting in until Wednesday."

"Trunks," Bulma said with no small amount of concern, "it's _noon _Wednesday. Are you alright?"

Trunks frowned at that. "I slept all day?" he asked aloud.

Bulma flipped the light switch nearest the bedroom door. Trunks flinched at the brightness. As his eyes adjusted to the sudden lighting, he saw an expression of shock come over his mother's face.

"What the _hell_ happened to you?" Bulma slammed the door behind her, stalking over to her teenaged son's bed as she took in his injured state.

"I—"

"I told you not to do anything crazy! What happened to just training?"

"I _was_ training."

Bulma's eyes narrowed as comprehension dawned on her. ". . . Tell me your father didn't do this." Her voice was low and dangerous. Trunks bit his lip and broke eye contact with his mother in reply.

"Oh," she said, her voice practically trembling with anger, "that stupid, crazy—"

"Mother," Trunks tried to reassure Bulma, "I'm fine. Really."

"Like hell you are!" For the second time in as many minutes, Trunks' bedroom door slammed, this time as his mother walked out.

Trunks leaned back on his pillow, waiting for the inevitable shouting to echo through the house. He knew better than to try to argue with his mother when she was like this. He could only hope that the fight that would break out between her and Vegeta would be enough to get whatever anger she felt toward her husband out of her system.

Several minutes passed as Trunks stared at his white ceiling. Oddly, no shouts could be heard within the Capsule Corp compound. He closed his eyes for a moment before finally realizing that he couldn't actually feel Vegeta's energy signature nearby. The man was probably out training in the wilderness somewhere.

He had just started to drift off to sleep again when he heard his door open once more. His eyes again snapped open as he sat up to see his mother standing in the doorway.

"I'm assuming you haven't eaten anything," Bulma said as she stepped into the room, tray in hand.

"Uh," Trunks began sheepishly, "not since Monday, I guess."

"Idiot." She set the tray down on the nightstand before taking a seat at the edge of Trunks' bed. The teenager started as she put a cool hand to his forehead and hummed thoughtfully.

"What?"

"You're running a slight fever," Bulma said softly, pulling her hand back. "I can't believe Vegeta. What the hell was he thinking?"

"It's really alright," Trunks mumbled in reply.

"No, it isn't." She looked the teenager up and down again. "Do you want me to call Goku? I'm sure he'd be happy to go and get you a senzu."

"No!" Trunks replied a little too emphatically, "I mean, uh, no thanks, mother." The teenager swallowed loudly. He knew, intellectually, that it was silly, but he was embarrassed about having been injured so badly in what was supposed to have been a routine training exercise. Besides that, the last thing he wanted was to drag yet another person—let alone Goku—into the situation. "I'll be fine. Really."

"I'm not sure why I expected you to be less stubborn than Trunks." Bulma shook her head as she stood. "You're going to eat, then you will take three aspirin and go back to sleep. Understood?"

Trunks knew better than to argue.

* * *

Trunks quickly got dressed, grabbing a clean black top and a pair of blue jeans. Bulma had, of course, been right about what he'd needed to recover from his injuries. It amazed him what a difference getting adequate food and rest had made over the past two days. The boy couldn't help shaking his head at his own stupidity—going nearly two days without eating anything had probably had just as much to do with his miserable state as his fight with Vegeta.

He quickly retrieved a pair of sneakers from his closet floor. His body was still covered in cuts and scrapes, but they were quite superficial, and the bruises had faded to a pale shade of green. His remaining wounds were, at least, nothing that should keep him from training.

The issue, of course, was deciding _where_ he should train.

Trunks might have considered asking Vegeta to continue to train him if he believed that the man would be remotely willing. But between his own disappointing performance in the Gravity Room four days earlier and the fights he had managed to spark between Bulma and Vegeta, he doubted his father had much interest in speaking to him, let alone training him.

Even through the thick walls and heavy door of his bedroom, he had heard the arguments that had erupted between Vegeta and his mother after she had seen his state. The younger Trunks, meanwhile, had been unusually quiet throughout the whole episode. He had been spending a surprising amount of time holed up in his own room, presumably studying or playing with his video games. He had come in to check on the injured teen a few times, but beyond that, had not done much to make his presence in the house known.

The tension at Capsule Corp was palpable. Trunks knew it was cowardly to run away from his problems, but he needed to get out of the house, if only until the friction had dissipated somewhat. Trunks didn't know what was worst—his father's coldness, his mother's endless concern, or the barely-concealed shock and worry apparent in the younger Trunks' demeanor.

He had to get away from the Capsule Corp compound. And as Friday afternoon rolled around, there was only one person he could think to call.

* * *

To his credit, Gohan had not pried when Trunks called him, obviously distressed. He'd simply offered to meet him for a sparring session at the largely unpopulated mountain range north of West City.

Trunks sat on the ground, reaching for his ankles in an attempt to warm up his tense muscles as he waited for the other teenager. The stretches were helping to some degree, but his limbs were still sore from the incident in the gravity room, and were stiff from disuse. He ignored the slight shiver that ran through his body; despite the bright sunshine, the winter air was crisp and chill. Still, he hadn't bothered with a jacket, knowing that the exertion from sparring would warm him quickly enough.

It wasn't long before he felt a familiar ki behind him. He stood and turned around to see Gohan approaching through the air.

"Hey!" the older boy said cheerfully as he landed on the ground.

"Hi," Trunks replied, biting the inside of his cheek as he took in the other demi-Saiyan's appearance. Gohan was dressed in his father's colors, donning an orange _gi_ over a long-sleeved blue shirt. Trunks tried to force the memory of his dead master to the back of his mind, but the resemblance was striking.

Gohan gave Trunks a quizzical look, apparently picking up on his sudden discomfort. "Everything alright?"

"Yes," Trunks said, drawing a deep breath, "of course. Thanks for meeting me."

"No problem. I can't remember the last time I had a proper sparring session, I've been so wrapped up in school."

Trunks shrugged. "Well, things have been pretty peaceful, right?"

"So far," Gohan said. "Until some crazy wizard raises another hyper-powerful demon."

"Don't jinx it."

"Heh, right." Gohan nodded. "So, any exciting New Year's plans?"

"What?" Trunks asked, taken aback by the sudden change in subject.

"It's New Year's Eve."

"Seriously?" Trunks scratched at his head, wondering where the last three weeks had gone. It was astounding how quickly the days had passed since his arrival in this time period. "Wow, I have completely lost all sense of time."

Gohan shot Trunks a look that fell somewhere between amusement and concern. "Isn't that kind of dangerous for a time-traveler?"

"Good point," Trunks said, relaxing somewhat as the conversation helped take his mind off Gohan's deceased counterpart. "Do you have anything planned?"

"Yeah," Gohan said, his face falling somewhat. "Videl is dragging me to Sharpner's New Year's party. She says if she's going to be stuck with those 'blockheaded, knuckle-dragging, beer-guzzling morons' all night, she is going to need some sane company."

Trunks laughed at the description. "Sounds like fun."

"Any chance I can talk you into coming along?"

Trunks shot a sidelong glance to the other teenager. "I'm not sure . . ."

"Come on. You'd be doing me a huge favor."

Trunks sighed. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

"Probably," Gohan said, looking quite self-satisfied at having so easily extracted that promise from the other teenager. "Anyway, are you ready to get started?"

"Sure." Trunks stepped back a few paces before gathering his _ki._ He focused on concentrating his energy for a few moments before he felt the familiar transformation come over him.

Gohan raised an eyebrow at the younger boy. "Do you always go Super Saiyan just to spar?"

"Not usually," Trunks said, somewhat abashedly. "I, uh, just have a lot of pent up energy right now."

"Fair enough." Gohan nodded, closing his fists as he gathered his own energy.

Mere seconds passed before Trunks felt Gohan's ki rise to a level similar to his own. Though the spike in the other boy's power level was not surprising, his appearance caught Trunks completely off guard.

"Something wrong?" Gohan asked in response to the confused look on Trunks' face.

"Yeah," Trunks said with a frown. "You didn't transform."

"Oh yeah, I guess you wouldn't know about that."

"Know about what? Aren't you going to become a Super Saiyan?"

"I kind of can't anymore," Gohan admitted. "Or don't need to. I'm not sure which."

"So you can power up . . ."

"Without transforming, yeah."

"Great Kami," Trunks said, his eyes widening, "that's _brilliant_. You don't need to waste energy transforming! Your stamina has probably been doubled."

"Yeah, I guess that's the idea."

"How did you do it?" Trunks asked excitedly.

"Uh, I kind of didn't _do_ anything."

"What?" came Trunks' confused response.

"After my first fight with Majin Buu, when I was unconscious, I got taken up to this other world that the Supreme Kai lived on," Gohan began to explain. "Turns out the Elder Kai's spirit was locked inside this sword, and when he was released, he agreed to help awaken my hidden powers. Now when I power up, I don't transform."

"Elder Kai?" Trunks repeated. "The same Elder Kai that gave his life for Goku?"

"That's the one." Gohan shrugged. "He popped out of the sword and helped me power up."

Trunks smiled at Gohan's explanation. "Sure, works for me."

"You know, you seem to be taking this all in stride pretty well."

Trunks' face fell. "Gohan," he deadpanned, "I'm a time-traveling half-alien prince. I think somewhere in between dying and coming back to life, I lost my sense of skepticism."

Gohan laughed. "Well, when you put it that way . . ."

"Don't get me wrong," Trunks said, "it's still incredible."

"Are we going to stand around and chat all day, or do you want to fight?"

"Right, of course." Trunks nodded as he slid into the familiar fighting form. "Just one question before we get started."

"Yeah?"

"How _did_ the Old Kai awaken your powers?"

Gohan smiled as he stepped into sparring form, mirroring the other teen. "He danced in front of me for twenty hours."

Trunks instantly regretted asking.

* * *

Gohan unlocked his apartment door, letting Trunks in before he quietly shut the door. He was careful not to slam the door behind him. Sharpner's party had, unsurprisingly, gone well past midnight as the New Year's festivities ran into the night.

At times like this, it was easy to forget that Trunks was here on a mission.

"I hate you, you know," Trunks said as he all but collapsed on Gohan's couch. "This is the second time in as many weekends you've dragged me to some crazy party."

Gohan laughed at the irate expression on the other boy's face. "Come on, it wasn't that bad."

"Easy for you to say," Trunks grumbled. "_You_ have a girlfriend. I got stuck with that crazy redhead and Videl's blonde friend following me around all night."

Gohan laughed at the thought of Erasa and Angela competing for the time-traveler's attention for the better part of the night. "I think Erasa's got a thing for you."

"No shit," Trunks said around a yawn. "I need to get some sleep if I'm going to get back to training tomorrow."

"What do you mean, back to training? Haven't you been training all week?"

"Long story," Trunks said as he sat up on the couch. "The short version, hurt myself training on Monday and I've been a little out of commission for the past few days."

"Fair enough," Gohan said. It was obvious to him that Trunks did not want to be pressed on the details. "Are you still training with Trunks? The younger one, I mean."

"Not since the whole issue with Buu came up. I should get back to that too, though." Trunks frowned to himself as he pulled his boots off. "I still can't believe he's already a Super Saiyan. He said he was only eight."

"I know," Gohan said, taking a seat on his bed. "Goten actually transformed before he even knew how to fly."

"That's insane."

"Right?" Gohan agreed.

"I'm serious," Trunks said, frowning. "It doesn't make any sense."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the boys have been fairly sheltered, right?"

"Mostly. Other than, you know, Majin Buu."

"So how did they transform? It doesn't just happen."

Gohan nodded. He'd often wondered the same thing. "I wish I could tell you. I honestly have no idea."

"Wild," Trunks said. "I guess you were really young too, though."

"Yeah, but that's a little different. I was training with my dad in the time chamber."

"True."

"And you . . ." Gohan looked at the younger boy, thinking back to the first time he'd met him, thirteen years before. "Well, you were a Super Saiyan when you first came to the past."

"Yeah?"

"Mind if I ask how it happened?"

"It was . . ." Trunks trailed off, casting his gaze away from the older boy. "It was when I found my world's Gohan's body."

"Oh." A tense silence descended upon the room. Neither boy moved from their respective seats.

"I'm sorry," Gohan finally said, breaking the silence. "I shouldn't have pried."

"No, it's alright." Trunks quickly shook his a few times as he pulled out his ponytail holder. "It's been years now."

Gohan bit his tongue. He was genuinely curious as to what, precisely, had led to his friend's transformation—and his own, alternate self's death—but it was obvious how the memory still distressed Trunks.

"You want to know what happened," Trunks said, seemingly reading the other teenager's thoughts. It wasn't a question.

"Kind of," Gohan said sheepishly. "But you don't need—"

"I don't mind telling you," Trunks interrupted.

"Are you sure?"

"Hey," Trunks said with a shrug, "if anyone has the right to know."

"If you're sure."

"I was fourteen, and he was injured." Trunks began flatly. "We'd already fought the androids before, and he'd lost an arm in the process. I was unconscious, but something tells me he was protecting me at the time." Trunks took a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing. "A few weeks later they attacked again. He tried to talk me out of going with him, but I eventually wore him down. At least, I thought I did." Trunks paused, folding his arms and fixing his gaze on a spot on Gohan's carpet. "He must have knocked me out. By the time I came to, you were . . . I found you . . . I mean, found _him _. . ."

Without warning, Trunks rose to his feet and began pacing toward the window. "It was such a stupid waste!" It was clear that he was no longer speaking to Gohan so much as to himself. "Four years later," he said angrily, "and I _still_ can't figure out why he wanted to go alone!"

Gohan again bit his tongue. He wanted to break the heavy silence that had once again fallen, but he couldn't think of anything appropriate or adequate to say.

Trunks turned from the window, again facing Gohan from across the room. "I'm sorry. I'm not angry with you. It's just . . ." he trailed off again, leaning against the wall with a thoughtful expression.

Gohan gave the other boy an understanding look. "You don't have anything to be sorry for," he said. "I felt the same way when my dad chose not to come back. I knew that he did what he thought was best, but it's hard to be totally rational when you miss someone so badly."

Trunks nodded again. "I'm glad Goku's back. If anyone deserves a happy ending, it's him."

"Yeah. You know, it's funny how much good came out of the whole Buu debacle." He paused for a moment. "Of course, I still can't even _look_ at a chocolate bar without feeling a little sick."

"What?" Trunks responded to the apparent non-sequitur. "Why?"

Gohan laughed. "Among Buu's more interesting powers was his ability to turn people into candy."

"So you have a bad association."

"Stupid, huh?"

"Not really," Trunks said, retaking his seat on the couch. "Everybody's got that one thing."

"Speaking of," Gohan asked. A thought had been nagging at the back of his mind for a few days now; the conversation that had just passed between himself and Trunks brought it to the forefront of his thoughts. "Mind if I ask you something?"

"Not at all."

"Is it difficult?"

"Is what?"

"Seeing me," Gohan explained. "Because I remind you of your world's Gohan."

"Sometimes," Trunks admitted. "Definitely at first. Why do you think I was such a basket case the first time I came over here?"

Gohan's eyes widened as he recalled the afternoon in question. Trunks had gone from a state of perfect calmness one moment to silent tears the next, then seemed to collect himself just as suddenly a few minutes later. The cause, Gohan realized upon reflection, should have been obvious. And yet, it hadn't occurred to him before that seeing a replica of his old mentor would cause such a breakdown, if only because Gohan remembered Trunks from his childhood. He hadn't stopped to think how much had changed in the last ten years, or how abrupt that change must have seemed to the time-traveler.

"I'm sorry."

Trunks actually cracked a smile at Gohan's words. "I think we need to stop volleying apologies. It isn't your fault. But to answer your question, it's not so hard anymore. Don't get me wrong, there are similarities—good _god_ are there similarities—but there are differences as well."

"Like what?"

"You're a hell of a lot stronger, for one." Trunks shot Gohan a grin. "And Gohan definitely didn't have time for a girlfriend in my world."

Gohan chuckled. "Makes sense."

"I _am_ kind of curious how you two got together, actually."

"Long story short, she blackmailed me into teaching her how to fly."

"Blackmailed?" Trunks shot Gohan a look of incredulity. "What did she blackmail you with?"

"My secret identity as Saiyaman."

Trunks laughed. "Yeah, you probably wouldn't want _that_ getting out. But how did that lead to you dating?"

Gohan glanced at the clock mounted on his wall. "Uh, why don't we save that story for another time? Say, when it isn't three a.m."

"It's already three?" Trunks yawned again, as if on cue. "Man, no wonder I'm wiped. Should probably get some sleep before morning rolls around."

"So you're just inviting yourself to crash here?"

Trunks frowned at his friend. "Oh, you are _not_ kicking me out at three in the morning."

"Fine, fine." Gohan gave Trunks a knowing smile. "But if this keeps up, I'm going to have to start charging you rent."

Gohan dodged and grinned as his remote control came hurtling toward his head.


	11. Fundamentals

**Author's Note:** I usually don't write author's notes about the contents of the story, but I felt I should give you all some fair warning about the science-babble in this chapter (and, frankly, throughout the story).

First and foremost—yes, there will be discussion of the science behind time travel, the existence of numerous timelines, the fundamentals of space travel, etc. I will try to make it as accessible as possible, but this is where your feedback really helps. Please let me know if the science-talk makes sense in the context of the storyline.

Second—yes, I am playing fast and loose with relativistic physics. Some of the stuff in here is scientifically accurate. For instance, Trunks and Bulma have discussed that time isn't linear, but is actually just another dimension of space. That much is true (at least according to that eccentric German fellow known as Albert Einstein). It's also what makes time travel theoretically possible out here in the real world.

As another example: the best scientific evidence indicates that approximately 25% of the universe is made of dark matter, which is non-baryonic (i.e., not made of atoms—yeah, try to wrap your head around that). Astrophysicists have, however, hypothesized the existence of a small amount of baryonic dark matter, which can interact with "regular" matter (and antimatter) via electromagnetic forces. I'm oversimplifying a bit here, but that's the basic idea.

That being said, I am taking a fair amount of artistic license. That means that a lot of the science in here is not 100% accurate. I'm not really going for real-life accuracy here so much as internal consistency. I'm okay with contradicting Stephen Hawking. I'm less okay with contradicting earlier parts of the story. If there are any astrophysicists out there in the audience, please forgive the inaccuracies.

But let's think about it here. This is _Dragonball Z_. Spaceships travel faster than the speed of light, people come back from the dead with regularity, and five-year-olds can launch world-destroying _ki_ blasts from their hands. Conservation of energy clearly does not exist in the world of Akira Toriyama. Neither the series itself nor this tale, then, are bound by the precise mechanics of relativity.

Apologies for the long note, but since I'd gotten a number of questions on this issue, I thought I'd try to clear things up here. Thanks for reading!

* * *

**Percussion**  
**Chapter 10**

**Fundamentals**

* * *

Gohan blearily rubbed his eyes and let out a loud yawn. He ignored the mild pounding in his head as he sat up, catching a slight movement in the corner of his eye. He turned to see Trunks seated up on the couch, quietly flipping through a book on the coffee table.

"Morning," Gohan said around another yawn.

The younger boy turned to him. "You're awake."

"Yeah," Gohan said as he stood from the bed. He stepped over toward the couch, looking at the book resting on his coffee table. He raised an eyebrow at the other demi-Saiyan. "Are you reading my quantum mechanics textbook?"

"It was either that or Fundamentals of Statistics, Third Edition," Trunks said with a small smile. "You don't keep much in the way of reading material around, do you?"

"Not really," Gohan agreed. "How long have you been up, anyway?"

"A couple of hours."

Gohan frowned as he looked to the clock on his wall. It was nearly 11 a.m. "Why didn't you wake me?"

Trunks shrugged. "I thought you could use the sleep."

"I guess," Gohan said. "Looks like I'm going to be late, though."

"For what?"

"I promised to join my parents for lunch."

Trunks smiled as he shut Gohan's physics textbook and stood from his seat on the couch. "You'd better get going then. I'll head back to West City."

"You don't want to come with?"

"I don't want to impose," Trunks said with another shrug.

"It isn't an imposition!" Gohan rolled his eyes at the other demi-Saiyan. "Look, if it makes you feel better, I can call ahead and check with my mom. You'll be sure not to 'impose' then." Gohan rendered air-quotes with his fingers at the word "impose."

"You really don't need to."

"Come on, my parents would love to see you."

"I don't know."

"Do you have anything better to do?" After a moment's silence passed, Gohan continued, "I'm going to take that as a no."

"I do need to train," Trunks insisted.

"So we'll get in a spar after lunch. It's better than being cooped up in the Gravity Room all day, right?"

Trunks' face fell somewhat. "I'm never going to win an argument with you, am I?"

"Nope!" Gohan grinned. "I'll check in with my mom, then we can head out."

* * *

Much as Gohan had expected, his mother had been more than welcoming when he'd suggesting bringing Trunks over. The flight had been uneventful, and Chichi had ordered the teenagers out of the kitchen as she made last-minute preparations. Goku was, predictably, wrapping up a few training exercises in the woods of Mount Paozu as his wife prepared their lunch.

Goten, meanwhile, had apparently gotten over the awkwardness of meeting an adult version of his best friend, and was peppering the teenaged time-traveler with questions about the future. Trunks was answering as diplomatically as possible. He obviously didn't want to lie to the young demi-Saiyan, but neither did he wish to delve into the details of the androids' twenty-year reign and their eradication of half the human population of his earth. Gohan interjected where he could, but his younger brother was persistent in his questioning.

Goten nodded excitedly as Trunks explained, as simply as he could, the mechanics of time travel. It was clear enough to Gohan that Trunks didn't quite know how to handle his energetic little brother.

"And what about me?" Goten asked, bouncing on one foot as he interrupted Trunks mid-sentence.

Trunks frowned at the boy. "What do you mean?"

"What am I like as a grown up?" Goten asked, his eyes wide with wonder. "Am I your best friend in your time too?"

Gohan and Trunks glanced askance at one another, unsure how to address that question. Neither teen knew quite how blunt to be with the ten-year-old. Goten looked from one teenager to the other, clearly anxious for an answer.

"History has changed a lot, Goten," Trunks finally said, kneeling to eye level with the child. "In my time, I never met you."

"Oh." Goten looked down and shuffled his feet, the excitement instantly falling from his eyes. "That's kind of sad."

"Yeah," Trunks agreed. "It is." He shared another look with Gohan as a heavy silence fell over the three of them. Gohan shrugged one shoulder, unsure what, if anything, he could add to the time-traveler's answer.

"Chichi?" a familiar voice called out loudly as the door opened, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Is Gohan here yet? I'm starving!"

Gohan turned to face his father, grateful for the interruption. "Hey, Dad."

"Trunks!" Goku said with a grin. "I didn't know you'd be coming too."

Trunks stood up straight, turning to the Saiyan. "I didn't either, until about an hour ago."

"Well, it's good to see you." His grin broadened as his wife brought in the first of what were likely to be several platters of food. "Alright, lunch!"

The woman glowered at her husband as she set the platter on the dining table. "Don't touch that! It's not ready yet."

Goku's face fell slightly as he looked at the platter. "But it _looks_ ready . . ."

"There's more coming, and the table's not even set yet!" She slapped her husband's hand away from the platter. "And we have guests. Don't you have any manners at all?"

"It's Gohan and Trunks," Goku responded, somewhat dejectedly. "They're not _guests._"

Gohan heard a soft, almost choked sound to his left. He turned to see Trunks doing his best to stifle a laugh.

"Thanks again for having me over, Chichi," Trunks said, suppressing a chuckle.

"It's no problem," she said, folding her arms. "Just sit down, and make sure Goku doesn't clear the plate before I get back." With that, the woman stepped back into the kitchen, leaving the boys to take their seats around the table.

"So," Goku said as he pulled out one of the chairs and got seated. "Any word on what might be the problem with your timeline?"

Gohan and Trunks shared another glance. "Well," Trunks said, "sort of."

"What do you mean, sort of?" Goku reached for one skewer of grilled chicken. "Are you going back to your time soon?"

"I think I've got to get in a fair bit of training first."

"Why's that?"

"Because," Gohan interjected, "Trunks is planning on fighting Majin Buu."

Trunks frowned at the older demi-Saiyan. "That's not entirely accurate."

Goku nearly choked on the bite in his mouth. "Is Buu even around in your timeline?"

"Well, he was buried thousands of years before our timelines split. I'm guessing that he's still buried there, and never woke up."

"So you want to blow up his shell?"

"That's the plan."

"And what if you wake him up?"

Goten looked from his brother to his father, then back to Trunks. "Majin Buu is really strong," the boy added.

"That's why I need to train first," Trunks agreed. "I'm hoping that if I can ascend, and Buu's not at full strength, that'll be enough to take him out."

Goku furrowed his eyebrows, a thoughtful expression coming over his face as he absentmindedly reached for another skewer. "Do you want me to train you?" Goku asked before popping another chunk of chicken into his mouth.

Trunks' eyes widened at Goku's suggestion. He looked at the older man anxiously. "Are you serious?"

"Sure!" Goku said, swallowing the massive bite in his mouth. "I mean, if you're really going to take Buu alone, you're going to need all the help you can get. Even if he's not at full power."

"Sounds like a great idea," Gohan agreed. "At least you'll be prepared this way."

"Goku, that would be incredible." He nodded gratefully at the Saiyan, his eyes still wide at the prospect of having Goku take on the role of his master. "Thank you."

"Great! Then we'll start first thing tomorrow morning."

"Yes, of course," Trunks said, nodding excitedly. "Is there anything I should do beforehand?"

Before Goku could respond, a loud female voice interrupted the conversation. "Goku!" Gohan and Trunks both craned their heads around to see a very irate-looking Chichi with her hands on her hips. "What did I _just_ tell you about touching that before it's ready?"

"I only took a few pieces," Goku replied, the pout on his face making him appear much younger than his thirty-eight years.

"A _few pieces?_" There was a blur of movement before the boys saw Chichi standing above Goku, menacingly waving a thick, cast-iron frying pan above her husband's head.

Goku raised his hands up defensively. "It just looked so good!"

"Uh . . ." Trunks blinked at the display before him. It might have been comical had it not been so bizarre. He watched the argument between Goku and Chichi unfold for a few moments before turning back to Gohan. "Where does your mother keep that frying pan?"

Gohan lowered his eyes and chuckled. "Trunks, I've been to outer space. I've been dead and back. I've known the guardian of the Earth since I was a kid, and I've met the supreme overseers of the universe. But that is one mystery I don't think I'll ever solve."

* * *

It was late afternoon before Trunks returned to the Capsule Corp compound. Lunch had been pleasant enough, and although Trunks didn't think he would ever get used to the voracious appetites all three Son men displayed, that wasn't what dominated the young time-traveler's thoughts.

Trunks looked toward the stack of files on his desk. On the one hand, Goku was probably the single greatest warrior he had ever met, and the man's offer to train him was an exciting one. On the other, Trunks was painfully aware that his plan to hunt down Majin Buu's shell was not only a dangerous one, but was speculative at best.

Trunks took a seat at his desk, pulling one stack of papers toward him. He had pulled out several of what he believed were the most relevant files, hoping that his mother's research would make more sense in light of his realization of Buu's likely role in damaging the timestream.

Trunks spent several minutes sorting the papers into some semblance of order, divided them by topic. His eyes fall upon one particular sentence listed below the bolded subject heading "Indicators."

_Radiation—Terahertz. May be present in detectable amounts. Note any fluctuations greater than 0.7 mSv._

Trunks furrowed his brow, rereading the sentence. He vaguely recalled terahertz radiation being mentioned at least once since he'd arrived in this timeline. He frowned, struggling to remember where it was he'd first heard the term. A few seconds passed before his first training session with his younger self came to mind.

He stood from his chair, setting aside the sheet. He and his young counterpart had, he remembered, managed to set off the alarms of the Gravity Room during their spar. When he had asked Bulma about the cause, she had explained that the gravity generators were prone to releasing excessive terahertz radiation when overused. Trunks' frown deepened as he wondered whether there was a connection.

He only pondered the question for a few moments before resolving to find Bulma and ask if she had any insights. He hurriedly made his way down the stairs and into the basement, only to find her laboratory empty. He dashed back up to the main section of the house and stalked down the corridor toward her home office. The door was ajar, and though he couldn't see into the office, he could hear the whirr of Bulma's computer inside.

Trunks knocked, gingerly tapping on the door with his knuckles. He heard his mother's voice call him to come in before he pushed the door open.

His mother turned to him, still seated in her desk chair. "Hey, sweetheart. Where were you last night?"

"Out with Gohan's college friends, actually."

Bulma laughed in response. "Sounds like fun."

"Something like that." Trunks took in the stacks of paperwork on his mother's desk, and the numerous programs running and visible on her computer's monitor. "Don't you ever take a day off?"

"Days off don't really have much meaning when you run your own company." She smiled at the teenager. "So what's going on, honey?"

"I've actually got some questions. About terahertz radiation."

"What about it?"

"You said that the gravity generators can start giving off large amounts of terahertz radiation if they're malfunctioning," Trunks continued.

"Uh huh?"

"That kind of radiation also comes up in the files I brought over from my timeline."

"Yes, it does," Bulma nodded. "That's not exactly surprising."

"Why isn't it surprising? What's the connection?"

Bulma sighed and gestured for Trunks to take a seat in one of the empty chairs. "Do you really want a physics lesson now?"

"I want to understand what's going on."

"Trunks," she said after a moment's pause, "do you know what gravity is?"

Trunks frowned in confusion. "What kind of question is that?"

"Just answer me."

"The . . . the force that keeps us from floating out into space? What are you getting at?"

"Trunks, gravity _is_ space."

Trunks raised an eyebrow in response. "What do you mean?"

"Gravity isn't like some magnetic field that grabs onto our bodies. It's quite literally the bending of space caused by massive objects. Mass bends space. The more mass an object has, the more it bends space. That's why, say, Jupiter has higher gravity than the Earth."

"I follow," Trunks confirmed. "But what does that have to do with the timeline instabilities?"

"I'm getting there," Bulma said. "Now, there are two ways to generate gravity. If you want, say, 300 G's, you can either go find something with the mass of ten suns, or you find a way to bend space in a limited area."

"The gravity generators actually bend space?"

"Exactly. It's a very precise, very involved process."

"So where does the radiation come in?" Trunks asked.

"Terahertz radiation is everywhere, all the time, in undetectable amounts," Bulma explained. "If something actually begins emitting detectable amounts, that means its spatial integrity might be compromised."

"Isn't that dangerous?"

"Potentially," Bulma agreed. "That's why the gravity generator has that auto shut-off feature. If detectable amounts of terahertz radiation are being generated, that means that something is wrong. Usually I just need to recalibrate the machines, but generating 500 G's in an enclosed space isn't exactly child's play."

Trunks frowned for a moment. "Is that why it's so hard to sense peoples' _ki_ if they're in the Gravity Room? Because you're bending the space they're in?"

Bulma grinned at Trunks' question. "You're catching on."

"But that still doesn't explain what terahertz radiation has to do with my timeline."

"Actually, it does," Bulma said. "Remember how I said that time is just another dimension of space?"

"Yes?"

"Well, if terahertz radiation can be a sign that something is losing its spatial integrity . . ." Bulma trailed off, inviting the teenager to complete the thought.

"And if time is just another element of space . . ." Trunks continued with a thoughtful nod.

"Exactly. If your timeline has really become destabilized, then your entire Earth might be generating unusual amounts of terahertz radiation."

"Alright," Trunks said. "Alright, that makes sense. So are you going to try to measure the radiation from my timeline's earth?"

"Trunks," Bulma said gently, "I have absolutely no way to get those readings. I'm getting energy signatures from your timeline via the dark matter, but I can't very well set up radiation sensors for your entire planet. I don't have access."

Trunks' face fell. "So that's another dead end."

"I'm sorry," Bulma said with a soft smile. "But the more I think about it, the more I believe you're right about Majin Buu being the problem." Bulma sighed, taking a sip of coffee from the mug on her desk. "I hate to say it, but it looks like you really will have to go back to your home timeline and take Buu out."

"That's the plan. I'll stay here and train until I'm ready to take on Majin Buu."

"How will you know when you're ready?"

"I'm not sure," Trunks admitted. "I'm hoping Goku will help me figure that out."

Bulma raised an eyebrow at that. "Goku's training you? When did that happen?"

"A couple of hours ago, actually. He offered to start tomorrow morning."

"And you'd be stupid to turn him down." Bulma let out a soft laugh. "This actually makes me feel a little better about you fighting that monster."

"Yeah," Trunks said, rising from his chair. "Me too."

* * *

The sun had barely risen by the time Trunks arrived at Mount Paozu. He wasn't sure what time Goku intended to meet him, but the man had told him that they would begin their training "first thing" in the morning, and Trunks knew the older man was an early riser.

It wasn't long before Trunks realized that his instincts had been right. He could feel Goku's _ki_ quickly traveling in his direction as he landed on the grass. Moments later, the older man was standing in front of him, a broad smile on his face.

"Great, you're here," Goku said, not bothering with any further greeting. "Let's get started."

"Of course," Trunks said. He put his hands together and gave the Saiyan a quick bow. "Where should we begin?"

Goku chuckled softly at the formality. "Okay, first, get in sparring form." Trunks complied immediately. When Goku was satisfied with the boy's stance, he continued, "Now attack me."

Trunks' posture stiffened, his mind immediately returning to the way his ill-fated training session with Vegeta had begin. Though he said nothing, Goku seemed to sense the teenager's discomfort.

"What's the matter?" Goku asked. "I told you to come at me."

Trunks took a deep breath before responding, still posed in sparring form. "I won't pretend that I'm a match for you, Goku."

"I'm not going to attack you. I just want to see what you can do."

"Alright," Trunks said with no small degree of hesitation. He took a moment to gather his energy before launching himself at Goku.

Trunks threw a punch as soon as he was within striking distance. The older warrior dodged, tilting his upper body mere inches to one side. Trunks countered with a roundhouse kick aimed at the man's head. Again, Goku avoided it effortlessly.

This exercise went on for several minutes. Trunks tried not to become frustrated with his own performance as he failed to land a single blow on his new master. Though Trunks was becoming winded, it was clear that Goku was nowhere close to breaking a sweat.

Goku suddenly pulled back from Trunks, landing on the grass several feet in front of the youth. "Okay, stop."

"Right," Trunks said, taking a moment to catch his breath. "So what now?"

Goku looked the teenager up and down, ignoring the teen's question. "Well," he said after several seconds, "you're strong."

Trunks creased his brow at the unfinished thought. "But?"

"But," Goku said, "you've forgotten the basics."

"The basics?" Trunks repeated. He knew that he had not progressed much since his last trip to this timeline, but he was not expecting that particular critique.

"It happens," Goku said casually. "It's easy to lose sight of the fundamentals when you advance as fast as you have." The man slowly raised both his hands, palms facing out. "Punch my hand. I'll catch your fist."

Trunks obeyed, pulling his arm back and making a fist with his right hand. A split second later, his hand landed Goku's open palm. He ignored the slight pain that shot through his wrist as he made contact.

"Hold on a second," Goku said, pulling his hand away. "You are way too stiff. C'mon, loosen your wrist. Otherwise you're just going to hurt yourself." Trunks nodded, shaking his hand out before pulling back and punching into Goku's palm once again.

"Better," Goku said with an approving nod. "Now, left fist." When Trunks complied, the older man immediately ordered, "Right fist."

Trunks quirked one eyebrow at the Saiyan. "Do you just want me to keep throwing punches for two hours?"

"'Course not," Goku responded with a smile. "This'll take three, at least."

Trunks laughed at the gleeful look on his new teacher's face. "What have I gotten myself into?"

Goku's grin widened. "Right fist," he repeated.

Trunks sighed, planted his feet, and threw another punch.

* * *

Unbeknownst to the time-traveler, his younger self was also engaged in an early-morning training session, albeit with a very different master. The eleven-year-old Trunks had not trained with his father since before his trip to Pepper City, and Vegeta apparently thought that a week-long hiatus was more than enough rest.

Trunks had barely spoken to either his father or his older self since he'd returned to West City. Though his reaction hadn't been nearly as loud or as angry as his mother's, he had also been shocked when he'd seen the elder Trunks' appearance upon his return. The teenager had tried to brush off his wounds as a routine training injury, but the younger boy had known better.

In six years of training with Vegeta, Trunks had never been treated so harshly.

Trunks was abruptly pulled out of his reverie as his father kicked his legs out from under him, causing him to land unceremoniously on the Gravity Room floor. He looked up to see his father glaring down at him, looking thoroughly unamused.

"You're distracted," the man said, gesturing for Trunks to stand up.

"Sorry," Trunks mumbled, brushing himself up and taking sparring form again.

"Stop muttering," Vegeta ordered. "Tell me what has you so preoccupied."

"Nothing," Trunks insisted.

"Don't lie to me," Vegeta said. "This whole session is going to be a complete waste of time if your mind is elsewhere. Now tell me."

"Fine," Trunks said, slipping out of stance and crossing his arms. "It's Trunks. Older Trunks."

Vegeta raised one black eyebrow at his son. "What about him?"

"He was kind of a mess when we got back from Pepper City, Dad."

Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Not you too. Your mother has already given me several earfuls over that."

"I mean, you beat him up pretty bad."

"You've seen him. He's fine."

Trunks looked away, his arms still folded. When he didn't respond to Vegeta's statement, the man continued.

"I've fought with him before," Vegeta explained. "I know his limits. It's his choice how far he wants to push those limits."

"I guess," Trunks said quietly, still staring off toward the wall of the room.

"I told you to stop muttering," Vegeta said firmly. "Now get back in sparring form. We aren't done here."


	12. Still Waters

**Percussion**  
**Chapter 11**

**Still Waters**

* * *

Trunks wiped the sleep out of his eyes as he rolled his sore body out of bed. He seldom slept in this late, but it was a rare day in which he didn't have an early-morning training session with Goku scheduled, and rising before dawn every day for the past two weeks was beginning to take its toll. He didn't bother grabbing a shirt or shoes, instead making his way out of his room and toward the stairs dressed in nothing more than the loose sweatpants he'd fallen asleep in the night before.

Trunks had advanced rapidly over the past couple of weeks. The variety in his training schedule likely had something to do with his progress. Goku was, unsurprisingly, an incredibly effective master, and his sparring sessions with Gohan consistently forced him to push his limits. All this was on top of the substantial amount of training that he'd been doing on his own.

As for his father . . .

Trunks shook his head as he made his way down the stairs. He knew there was a lot he could learn from Vegeta. Still, he hadn't trained with the Saiyan prince since that day in the gravity chamber three weeks prior. Truth be told, the half-Saiyan was more angry with himself than with his father. Yes, Vegeta had opened up somewhat over the past decade, but Trunks—this version of him, anyway—had not been a part of that man's life. The teen had been foolish to think he could cultivate anything resembling a relationship with him.

Trunks was finally coming to accept what he should have realized long ago. His father, despite all they had faced together, ultimately thought of him as a failure.

Trunks shook his head, as if to shake the thought out of his mind as he entered the kitchen. He was here on a mission, not for a family reunion.

He stepped in to find Bulma sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper over a cup of coffee. "Mother, good morning," he greeted warmly, stepping toward the table and taking the seat next to her.

"Oh, Trunks," she said, looking up from her newspaper. "Not training with Goku this morning?"

"Not until tomorrow," Trunks answered. "What about you? Are you actually taking a day off?"

"For once, yeah," she said before taking another sip of coffee. "There's a pot of tea on for you."

Trunks smiled in response. "Thanks," he said, rising to pour himself a mug before retaking his seat next to her.

"So how are the sessions with Goku going?"

"Really well," he answered, blowing into his mug to cool the steaming liquid. "This isn't exactly a surprise, but Goku definitely knows what he's doing."

"And to think, he can train you _without_ beating you to a bloody pulp."

Trunks nearly choked on his tea. "Mother!"

"I know, it's been weeks, but I still can't believe Vegeta would—"

"It's _fine_," Trunks insisted, setting his mug down on the table.

"Have you even spoken to him?"

"No," Trunks admitted, looking down into his mug. "The truth is, I don't think he has much to say to me."

"And what about you?"

"Hmm?" Trunks replied, looking back up at Bulma. "What do you mean?"

"Do you have anything to say to him?"

"I'd rather not," came Trunks' quiet response.

Bulma looked as though she wanted to argue, but as she opened her mouth to speak, the mobile phone on the kitchen table began to ring. Bulma picked it up, looking at the small display screen. "Damn," she said, reading the number that appeared on her phone. "I have to take this."

"It's Sunday." Trunks frowned slightly at her. "I thought you were taking the day off."

"Science never sleeps," Bulma sighed. "And neither do my executive vice presidents, apparently." She flipped open the phone, answering the man on the other line. "Hold on, Domi, I'll be with you in a minute." She covered the microphone with her hand as she returned her gaze to her teenaged son. "Just think about it, okay?" She waited for Trunks to nod in reply before removing her hand, resuming her business call as she walked out of the kitchen.

Trunks finished the rest of his cooling tea before rising to pour himself a second cup. He was leaning against the counter when he sensed another presence, one all too similar to his own, approaching. He didn't need to look up to realize that his young counterpart had entered the kitchen.

"Oh, there you are," the boy said by way of greeting.

Trunks nodded in reply. "What's up, kiddo?"

The younger boy ignored his question. Instead, his eyes widened as he stared at the shirtless teenager. "Wow," he blurted out. "You've got a _lot_ of scars."

"Thanks, I hadn't noticed," the teen murmured into his mug.

"How'd you get so thrashed up?"

The time-traveler narrowed his eyes at his counterpart. "What do you want, Trunks?" he asked flatly, setting his mug down on the counter with a soft _thud_.

"Right. Sorry." The boy bit his lower lip, suddenly looking hesitant. "Uh, I was gonna ask if you still wanted to train with me this morning."

The elder boy smacked his forehead—he'd forgotten about his promise to resume his sparring with the child. It had been weeks since their last session; Trunks hadn't trained with his younger self since before the boy's trip to Pepper City three weeks prior.

"Crap," he said. "I completely forgot."

The boy cast his glance away his older self. "You don't have to."

"No, I said I would," the teen insisted. "Just give me a few."

"Right," the boy said, turning to leave the kitchen. "Sure, whenever."

Trunks quickly gulped down the rest of his tea, setting his mug in the sink before running upstairs to change. He opened his dresser drawer to find the five black training _gi_'s—each with a pale blue belt and matching wristbands—that Bulma had stocked there. He quickly grabbed one, changing before heading back down toward the gravity room.

He opened the heavy metal door to find his young counterpart already inside, toying with the dials on the gravity generator. The child looked up when he heard the door open, apparently startled by the older boy's presence.

"You're here," the younger Trunks said, sounding somewhat surprised.

"Yeah," the teenager replied, closing the door behind him. "I promised."

"I thought you might back out."

Trunks frowned at his younger self. "Why's that?"

"Well, you seemed kind of ticked off earlier."

The teenager's frown deepened. "I'm not angry with you. Now do you want to spar, or are we going to stand around all day?"

"Okay, okay, yeesh." The boy quickly activated the gravity generator, setting it to 75 G's. "You're starting to sound like Dad."

The teenager folded his arms, unsure whether the kid had meant the observation as an insult or not. "Sorry. I've been a little preoccupied lately."

"Because of Buu?"

The frown dropped from the teenager's face as his eyes widened in surprise. "Who told you about that?" He couldn't imagine that his mother would share that information with his younger self, and he doubted Vegeta had so much as discussed the topic since their own sparring session three weeks before.

"Uh," the kid began sheepishly. "Well, you did."

"What are you talking about?"

"When you were talking to Gohan. I overheard you."

Realization dawned on the teenager. "You're the one who told Mother."

The boy started fiddling with his thumbs. "Uh, yeah. Sorry."

"It's fine." The older Trunks pinched the bridge of his nose. "I had to tell her eventually. She just caught me a little off guard."

The child managed a half-cocked smile. "She tends to do that."

"I just wish you'd spoken to me before telling her."

"It just kind of came out." The boy bit his lower lip for a moment before continuing. "You know it's a really bad idea, right?"

"So everyone keeps telling me."

"That's because it's a _really_ bad idea."

"I get it," Trunks huffed out. "Between Mother, Gohan, and Goku, I've gotten that message loud and clear."

"And you're still going to fight him? Alone?"

"Do you have any better ideas?"

"Yeah, maybe," the younger Trunks said. "Like fusion."

"Fusion?"

"You learn this dance to merge bodies with someone else. It lasts for thirty minutes, and makes you way more powerful. Like, a lot stronger than the two original bodies put together."

Trunks raised an eyebrow at his young counterpart. This was the first he'd ever heard of such a technique. "When did you learn how to do that?"

"Goten's dad and Piccolo taught it to me and Goten. We practiced it in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber before going to fight Majin Buu."

Trunks' jaw dropped. "You've been inside the Time Chamber?"

"I just said that."

"But you can only use it twice in a lifetime." The teenager spoke more to himself than to his counterpart.

"I know, I've only used it once."

"Yes, but I had already used it twice." Trunks paused for a moment, looking the younger boy up and down for a moment. "Holy shit." The teenager bit his tongue, looking at the child. "Er, sorry."

"Oh, yeah, my poor ears. Because I've managed to spend eleven years living with Mom and Dad and never heard the word 'shit' before."

The older Trunks chuckled. Even in his own timeline, where his mother had been forced to mature with heartbreaking speed, she had never quite lost her foul-mouthedness. The torrents of swears and curses he'd heard his mother unleash at her equipment as she worked on the time machine were impressive, even to a teenager's ears.

"The verdict's in, kiddo," the teen said. "We've got two separate lifetimes."

"Well, duh. You're from another timeline."

"Adults can be idiots sometimes," Trunks said with a smile. "Thanks for the reminder."

"You're _barely_ an adult," the boy said, rolling his eyes and finally stepping into sparring form. "Now do you want to spar, or are we going to stand around all day?"

Trunks laughed at the child's echoing of his own words before mirroring the boy's stance. "Alright. But you're asking for it."

* * *

Sunday afternoon came and went quickly. By the time his sparring session with his younger self ended, Trunks had found Goten perched on a couch in their living room, with Krillin apparently on his way from Kame House to deliver Marron. The children's Sunday afternoon playdate had evolved into a Sunday evening sleepover, which was why, when the teenager came downstairs the next morning, he heard three young voices giggling in the living room.

"Morning," the teenager said around a yawn as he came downstairs. The three kids immediately quieted themselves, stiffening up as they turned toward the older boy.

"Oh, uh, good morning," the younger Trunks said. Goten was biting his lip as a grin crept up the corners of his lips, while Marron let out another soft giggle.

Trunks frowned at the three children. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Goten insisted.

"Alright," the teen said. He wasn't sure what mischief the three of them—no doubt spurred on by his younger self—were up to, but given their apparent habit of pulling pranks on the much-beleaguered Vegeta, Trunks thought it was best that he not know. "Do you know if Father's using the Gravity Room?"

"Haven't seen him yet today," the younger Trunks said.

"Perfect," the teenager said. Goku had uncharacteristically scheduled their training session for the early afternoon, so Trunks was hoping to warm up in the Gravity Room before flying out to Mount Paozu for another round of lessons. He made his way down the corridor, pointedly ignoring the childish giggles that had once again started up in the living room.

The teenager entered the domed chamber, setting the gravity to 300 G's before beginning his exercises. He quickly ran through his usual stretches before working through the forms he had been practicing with Goku. Though he hated to admit it, his new master had been completely right about the areas in which he'd been lacking. In his desperation to get stronger over the years—and bring an end to the androids terrorizing his planet as quickly as possible—he had cut corners. If he had any hope of handling the Super Saiyan Two transformation, he needed to rebuild his skills from the bottom up.

An hour passed, then two. A quick glance at the clock on the gravity generator console alerted Trunks to the time. He quickly walked over to the console to turn off the generators; if he didn't leave for Mount Paozu soon, he would almost certainly be late to meet Goku.

He unlocked the door to the Gravity Room before opening it. The instant he stepped through the threshold, however, he was thrown off balance. He felt himself land on his bottom before something wet and oddly sticky fell on him, covering him head to toe.

Trunks shook his head, trying to regain his bearings. He looked down to see a neon green slime covering him. He blinked a few times, staring at the green goo that coated his hands.

"What the _hell_?" Trunks asked aloud, too confused to be irritated. His answer came in the form of three loud giggles. He looked off to his side to his he younger self, Goten, and Marron, all laughing hysterically down the hall.

Little Trunks shot the other children a broad, smug smile. "I told you it would work!" The other two continued their mad giggles, and Goten was clutching his stomach as he struggled to catch his breath around his laughs.

"Trunks! Goten!" A loud female voice shouted from down the hallway. "What are you getting up to now?"

The elder Trunks stood as he saw the kids run quickly away from the direction of the Gravity Room. A few moments later he saw Bulma round the corner and approach him.

Bulma's large blue eyes widened as she saw her teenaged son. "What happened to you?"

"The boys happened, apparently." Trunks winced as he accidentally swallowed some of the slime. It didn't have much of a taste, but the texture was less than pleasant.

Bulma couldn't help laughing at that. "So Trunks has finally pranked you, huh?" She smiled, taking in the sight of her teenaged son covered from head to toe in viscous green slime. "That means he likes you."

"Odd way of showing it." Trunks wiped some of the green gunk from his forehead, keeping it from dripping into his eyes. "I'd better go rinse off and change."

Bulma laughed again. "Try not to track slime all over the house."

Trunks nodded. "I'll fly. Hopefully won't ruin too much of the carpet that way." The teenager levitated, leaving his smiling mother behind him as he made his way down the hall and upstairs.

In his rush to get to the shower, Trunks didn't register the presence of another person in the hallway. He barely managed to avoid slamming into Vegeta as the older man walked toward the stairs.

Trunks stopped short, midair. He swallowed loudly as a heavy silence filled the hallway. His father looked him up and down before speaking the first words he'd actively directed toward his teenaged son since their training session three weeks earlier.

"Trunks and Goten?" the older man asked, raising an eyebrow at the teenager's appearance.

"Uh, yeah," Trunks said awkwardly. He rubbed one arm in discomfort, hoping his father would move off to one side so he could get to the shower before his lesson with Goku.

No such luck. "Where are you off to in such a rush?" Vegeta asked.

"I'm supposed to be at Mount Paozu in less than half an hour."

"What the hell for? Gohan lives out in Satan City."

Trunks didn't answer. Mere seconds passed before realization dawned on Vegeta's features.

"You're training with Kakarrot, aren't you?" Again, Trunks didn't answer—that seemed to be all the confirmation Vegeta needed.

The Saiyan Prince practically spat out his next words. "You're an idiot if you think he'll go easier on you than I."

"I'm not looking for him to go easy on me," Trunks muttered in reply.

Vegeta narrowed his eyes, glaring at the teenager for a few moments. The tension was palpable; again, Trunks silently hoped that his father would simply walk away.

Suddenly, and completely without warning, Vegeta laughed. Trunks startled up. Of all the reactions he had been preparing himself for, that was not one of them.

"Well," Vegeta said with a soft laugh, "you could do worse." With that, he stepped around the teenager and made his way downstairs.

Trunks gaped in shock as he watched his father's retreating form. "I am _never_ going to figure him out."

* * *

Trunks had to admit to himself that his father had been more than right in his observations. Though he was a kind man, Goku was a very demanding master. He wasn't stern, exactly, but he brooked absolutely no argument during his training sessions.

This was why, two hours into their lessons, Trunks had done nothing more than raise and lower his _ki_ levels on command. It was a surprisingly tiring exercise, but he realized that Goku was right. Controlling his energy was a key skill, and one that Trunks had been neglecting.

"Alright," Goku said as Trunks powered down yet again. "We're going to move on to something else."

"Great," Trunks said with no small amount of relief. "What will we be working on now?"

"_Ki_ blasts," Goku said simply.

Trunks smiled. This was the first time he would be working with energy beams since he started training with Goku. All their prior lessons had been focused on basic exercises and hand-to-hand combat, and Trunks was relieved to be moving on to something more advanced.

"The different _ki_ blasts—how do I put this—it's not just about using different hand movements," Goku began. "The attacks behave differently based on where in your body the energy originates. Does that make sense?"

"Sort of," Trunks said. "I'm not a hundred percent sure what you mean."

Goku sighed, frowning as he tried to think of a way to rephrase. "Really, Vegeta's the master of this. I've never met anyone with a bigger range of attacks."

"Right," Trunks said awkwardly.

The Saiyan seemed to pick up on the boy's discomfort. "Tell you what," Goku said gently. "Why don't I show you what I mean? I want you to let out a _ki_ blast."

"What kind?"

"Anything. Whatever you're most comfortable with."

"Alright." Trunks placed his thumbs and forefingers together in a diamond shape. He took a deep breath, gathering his energy as he prepared to fire a blast from his hands and into the sky. An instant before he was ready to fire, he heard his master's voice shout at him.

"Stop!" Goku ordered. The startled teenager held his breath, keeping his hands in position.

"Hold the energy back," Goku continued. "Don't drop it, but don't fire."

Trunks nodded and did his best to obey. It was a strange, mildly uncomfortable sensation. Holding a blast back like this was not something he had ever tried before, and his muscles were tense with the effort.

"Where do you feel it?" Goku asked.

"My . . ." Trunks trailed off, trying to focus on the energy he had gathered. "My upper back," he finally answered. "And shoulders."

"Good," Goku said. "Focus on that when you fire." Trunks did so, finally letting the energy beam loose. He was surprised to find that the beam seemed slightly more focused than usual, and lasted just a bit longer than he was used to.

"How did that feel?" Goku asked once Trunks let his arms drop to his side.

"Different," Trunks said. "Not more powerful, exactly. Just . . . I felt more in control."

"Good." Goku smiled at Trunks' answer. "Real good. Now, did you ever learn how to do a _kamehameha_?"

"No," Trunks said, shaking his head. He wasn't sure if his world's Gohan had ever mastered that particular technique, but either way, he had never passed it on to Trunks.

"Great! Then that's our next lesson." Trunks almost laughed at the gleeful look on his teacher's face. It was clear that Goku was thoroughly enjoying the prospect of teaching yet another fighter his signature attack.

"It starts deep, deep within your gut," Goku began. "Hold your hands like this." Trunks watched as Goku cupped his hands and held them at his side. Trunks mimicked the older man's posture.

"Now," Goku said, "bring that energy out from your gut and focus it on one point between your hands." Trunks nodded, swallowing as he concentrated on following Goku's instructions. "You don't have to say the name of the attack when you charge it, but it usually helps me."

Trunks nodded. "Ka . . ."

"Don't let your power levels drop. Focus."

"Me . . ."

"Bring that energy out. Feel it."

"Ha . . ."

"Pull your arms back. Let the _ki_ build in your hands."

"Me . . ."

"Now push it out!"

Trunks thrust his hands forward. "HA!" Instantly, a powerful, bright white beam came shooting out of his hands. He held his position until the blast was complete. Trunks panted, taking a moment to catch his breath as he watched the beam dissipate harmlessly among the clouds.

Goku clapped Trunks on the shoulder "You got that fast," he said approvingly.

Trunks took a few more breaths, nodding as he turned to his master. "I can see why you're so fond of that one. It's pure power."

"That's the idea," Goku said with a grin. "You've already gotten a lot stronger, you know."

"Nowhere near strong enough to take on Buu, though," Trunks said knowingly.

"You'll get there," Goku said. "I know you've got it in you."

"I appreciate that, Goku," Trunks said. "The question is how to get it _out_ of me."

The two Saiyans both heard a deep voice speak from above them. "That is the question, isn't it?" They looked up to find Piccolo, dressed in his signature cape and turban, floating mere feet above their heads.

"Piccolo!" Goku greeted. "What brings you down here?"

"Trunks does, actually," Piccolo said as he landed. "I heard from Gohan that you're planning on taking on Buu in your own time."

"Yeah," Trunks said. "That's why I'm training here."

"Training might not be enough, you know. Buu's not like anything I've ever seen, before or since."

Trunks and Goku shared a look. "That's what everyone keeps telling me," Trunks said. "But I don't think I have much choice in the matter."

"I'm not here to talk you out of it," the Namekian assured the teenager. "What I'm saying is that you need to be prepared for _anything_."

Goku frowned at his friend. "What are you getting at, Piccolo?"

"Trunks should try training in the Pendulum Room." Trunks frowned at Piccolo's words. The young demi-Saiyan had never heard of this 'Pendulum Room,' but it was clear from the look on his master's face that Goku certainly had.

"You're not serious," Goku said, his eyes widening. "That place is . . ." Goku trailed off, unsure how to finish his sentence.

"Intense," Piccolo volunteered. "I know. But you understand better than anyone that that's something he'll have to be ready for."

"What's the Pendulum Room?" Trunks asked, looking back and forth between the Saiyan and the Namek.

"It's a chamber on Kami's lookout," Goku explained. "I trained up there when I was a kid."

Trunks frowned. "Different from the Time Chamber?"

"Yes," Piccolo said with a slight wince. "The Time Chamber is . . . well, let's just say that it's inaccessible for the time being."

"Inaccessible how?"

"Piccolo destroyed the door when they were fighting Buu up there," Goku explained.

"It's a long story," Piccolo said. "The point is, Goku, I think Trunks should give the Pendulum Room a try."

Trunks again turned to his master. The look of wariness his Goku's face worried him somewhat. He rarely saw the older man express the slightest amount of hesitation; he couldn't help but wonder what this Pendulum Room could possibly have in store for him.

"It's not a bad idea," Goku finally said. "It's just kind of jarring."

"I can handle jarring," Trunks said. He turned to Piccolo. "I'm certainly willing to give it a try."

"When were you thinking?" Goku asked.

"No time like the present," Piccolo answered, levitating a few feet off the ground.

Trunks turned to Goku once more. Goku simply nodded his approval. Without another word, Trunks took off behind Piccolo.

* * *

Trunks landed softly on the white marble platform of the Lookout. Though he had expected to see Mr. Popo upon his arrival, he was surprised to find Gohan standing with him.

"Hey," Trunks greeted the other teenager with a smile. "What are you doing here?"

"This was actually Gohan's idea," Piccolo explained.

"You've been inside before?" Trunks asked the other boy.

"No," Gohan answered, "but Krillin's told me horror stories."

"When did Krillin use it?"

"When we were all getting ready to fight . . ." Gohan trailed off, shifting his gaze over to Piccolo.

"Yes?" Trunks asked.

"When we were preparing to fight Vegeta," Piccolo said flatly.

"It was a _long_ time ago," Gohan quickly interjected.

"I know," Trunks said calmly, hoping to diffuse the sudden awkwardness that had fallen upon their conversation. "But that still doesn't explain what you're doing here."

"Well," Mr. Popo explained, "Gohan will be joining you in the Pendulum Room."

Trunks frowned at his friend. "You really don't have to come with me. I can handle a training exercise on my own."

"I know that," Gohan said with a shrug. "It's just, this is the first time in a while I've really wanted to focus on _my_ training."

"Fair enough," Trunks said with a smile, satisfied with the older boy's explanation. "Then let's get to it."

"Right this way," Mr. Popo said, leading the Piccolo and the two demi-Saiyans up the stairs and down the central platform of the lookout. The four of them soon found themselves in a dimly lit room, dominated by a large pendulum swinging from the ceiling above a circular, glowing red platform.

"This," Mr. Popo began as he gestured for the two teenagers to stand in the center of the platform, "is a place where past, present, and future all meet."

"Please," Trunks said with a wince, "no more time travel."

"It doesn't work like that," Piccolo assured the teenager.

"Close your eyes, slowly," Mr. Popo instructed.

Trunks shared a look with Gohan before obeying. He felt a strange, almost soothing surge of energy come over him in waves as his eyelids slipped shut. A moment later, his world went blank.


	13. Ashes

**Percussion**  
**Chapter 12**

**Ashes**

* * *

Gohan opened his eyes to find himself standing in what appeared to be a large cavern. Through the dim light and heavy fog he could see a series of long, winding tunnels, and massive stalactites hung overhead. He could hear a faint dripping behind him; he turned to see water droplets trickling from a cluster of stalactites into a small, faintly rippling pool on the ground.

"What's going on here?" Trunks frowned as he took a step toward Gohan.

"I don't know," Gohan said quietly. The air around him felt strangely heavy. "I have no idea where we are."

"This place seems abandoned," Trunks said tersely. "What kind of training exercise is this?"

"I don't know," Gohan repeated. "I'm not sensing anyone else around."

"Me neither." Trunks tensed up as his eyes darted from side to side, unable to make out much in the dimness of the cavern. "Something doesn't feel right."

"Yeah," Gohan agreed. He couldn't quite pin it down, but something about the underground labyrinth in which he'd found himself set his every nerve on edge. "Come on," he continued. "Let's take a look around, see if we can't figure out what it is we're supposed to be doing here."

"Right, sure," Trunks said. Gohan walked forward carefully, looking from left to right and struggling to get a read on any surrounding energy signatures. He could sense nothing.

Gohan stopped dead in his tracks. He couldn't sense _anything_—including, he realized, the _ki_ of his companion.

"Trunks!" Gohan said in a harsh whisper, spinning on one heel to face his friend. "Can you sense my energy?"

"What?" Even in the dark, he could see Trunks furrow his brow in concentration. Another moment passed before the younger boy responded. "Oh. Oh, shit."

"I'll take that as a no." Gohan suppressed a shudder. "Better be on guard. Something's definitely wrong here."

"Just a sec." Gohan watched as Trunks clenched both fists, his face again falling into an expression of deep concentration. The cave brightened momentarily as a soft glow of pure energy surrounded him. Mere seconds passed before the light faded, leaving Trunks in his normal state.

Gohan's eyes widened. "Tell me what I think just happened didn't just happen."

"I can't transform," Trunks said, a look of worried confusion coming over his face.

Gohan swallowed loudly. "This is bad."

"No fucking kidding."

"Something about this place is messing with our _ki_."

"No shit, Gohan." Trunks' eyes darted from side to side as he tried to get his bearings. "Can you gather any energy at all?"

Gohan nodded, gathering an orb of pure _ki_ between his palms. He held it for a few seconds, letting its glow light the cavern walls surrounding him before it faded into darkness. "Not much," Gohan finally answered, blinking rapidly as his eyes again adjusted to the darkness. "And I can't hold it for long."

"_Fuck_," Trunks swore, raising one hand to his forehead. "Just great."

Gohan let out a nervous chuckle. "You know, I don't remember you swearing this much the last time you were here."

Trunks barked out a short laugh, the tension in his voice echoing Gohan's. "It's a bad habit. I try to rein it in when I'm around kids." Trunks paused for a moment. "Even kids that can rip me to shreds."

Gohan opened his mouth to respond when he heard a faint rustling behind him. His ears perked up as he instinctively moved one step closer to the other demi-Saiyan. "What was that?"

"I said, even kids that can rip me to shreds."

"No," Gohan whispered, "I just heard something. Listen." Both teenagers fell silent. Gohan startled up as he heard the odd rustling again; he looked from side to side, trying to find the source of the noise.

"Gohan," Trunks whispered, "I think that came from overhead."

"What?" Gohan looked up, squinting at the dimly lit ceiling. He could make out vague shadows flitting along the stalactites, but could otherwise see nothing.

Both teenagers started as they felt, more than heard, something land behind them on the ground. They turned to face a tall, lanky, slightly hunched figure. Despite the darkness, Gohan could make out its narrow eyes and reptilian features. It raised one hand, baring sharp claws as its slitted tongue emerged from between its fangs with a loud hiss.

Gohan stood silently. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Trunks slip into fighting form. Gohan, by contrast, remained still; he couldn't get a read on this creature's power, and was hesitant to attack without getting a sense of how powerful this being actually was. Before he could warn his friend to do the same, the snake-like figure before him began to speak.

"Look at that," he said. The voice was low and sibilant, and its words were punctuated by another loud hiss. "It wants to fight us."

Gohan's eyes widened. "Us?"

Again, the two demi-Saiyans startled up when they heard two more soft _thuds_ behind them. Gohan wordlessly slipped around so that he was back-to-back with Trunks. He felt the other boy's scabbard pressing into his back as he finally took a fighting stance that mirrored the other teenager's. They were surrounded, and, Gohan realized, they would have no choice but to fight their way out.

The three snake-like men stood before them. Though their stance was aggressive, all three stood perfectly still. Neither the demi-Saiyans nor their apparent adversaries seemed to want to make the first move.

The first strike came quicker than Gohan's could sense. It came from behind him; the fighter facing Trunks had thrown the first punch. Instinctively, he turned his head a few inches to see whether his friend had managed to block the blow.

This turned out to be a mistake. A moment later he felt a sharp pain in his gut. His vision blurred as he struggled to catch his breath, unsure which of the two creatures before him had struck. Gohan raised one arm, barely managing to block the next punch. He took a deep breath, realizing that his only hope would be to try to take the offensive.

He quickly sank to the ground, extending one leg in a roundhouse kick. He managed to knock both reptilians off balance, but only momentarily. In what appeared to be a synchronized move, both of his adversaries landed on their hands and instantly pushed themselves back up to their feet. Without missing a beat, one of them launched an energy beam toward Gohan. The teenager narrowly dodged the blast; the cave briefly lit up before the beam hit the ceiling, knock a large stalactite loose as rocks began to crumble around them.

Gohan took a moment to realize that the two cave dwellers now stood on either side of him. He wondered in the back of his mind whether it had been their plan all along to separate him from his ally. He could see out of the corner of his eye that Trunks had his hands full with his own opponent. He couldn't tell whether these creatures were absurdly strong, or whether his own powers had simply been diminished more than he'd realized, but he supposed it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he and Trunks were outnumbered and outmatched.

Gohan struggled to catch his breath as the two reptilians began circling around him. He stood in fighting form, preparing for the next strike to come. Before anyone could make a move, he heard his friend call out his name.

"Gohan!" Trunks shouted. "_Move!_" Without further warning, Gohan saw another energy beam hurtling toward the cave ceiling above him. He had only an instant to process what it was that Trunks was planning.

He barely managed to dive out of the way before another set of rocks and shattered stalactites came crumbling toward the ground. Gohan's adversaries did not react so quickly; Gohan could see through the dust that they had been immobilized, buried under what appeared to be several tons of stone.

The commotion seemed to distract Trunks' opponent long enough for Trunks to make an escape. The younger teenager ran toward Gohan, pulling him up by one hand before they both ran toward another, narrower tunnel in an attempt to regroup.

Gohan panted as they came to a stop, looking from left to right as he again tried to catch his breath. He saw Trunks do the same. "Looks like your own powers seem to be coming back," Gohan said, taking a step toward Trunks.

"Not really," Trunks said as he withdrew his sword from the sheath on his back. "That blast took everything I had."

"Wow," Gohan said, shaking his head in disbelief. Though the blast had done its job and allowed him and Trunks to escape for the time being, it hadn't been particularly large or powerful—certainly nowhere near Trunks' usual limits. "Whatever this place is doing to us, the natives don't seem to be having the same problems."

"Yeah, I gathered that much," Trunks said, gripping his sword with both hands. "So we have no idea where we are, we're surrounded by an unknown number of wildly strong snake-men, and our powers are shorting out."

Gohan swallowed. "We've survived worse," he said, hoping his voice sounded more confident to his friend than it did to his own ears.

"Have we?"

"Cell?"

"Cell killed me."

"Okay," Gohan admitted, "bad example. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Trunks said flatly. "What matters now is that we . . ." Trunks trailed off as he again glanced up toward the ceiling. "What was that?" he asked, looking back toward Gohan.

Gohan frowned at his friend. "What was—"

Trunks' eyes widened as he cut Gohan off. "Duck!"

Gohan had a split second before he saw Trunks' sword hurtling, point first, toward him. He narrowly dodged as it flew past him.

"What the . . ." Gohan turned around to see the cause of Trunks' abrupt actions. He jumped back as saw he yet another cave-dweller, this one impaled through the chest and pinned to the wall by Trunks' sword.

"Could I get a little more warning next time?" Gohan blurted out.

"No time," Trunks said as he stepped toward the reptilian, gripping the handle of his sword. "He was about to attack you." With that, Trunks quickly withdrew the sword from the cave-dweller's chest. The creature let out a soft, choked hiss as it sank toward the ground. Then, without warning, Gohan saw Trunks swing his sword once more in a single, fluid motion.

Gohan stared at the cleanly severed head as it rolled toward his feet. The reptilian's eyes were still open, and seemed to stare blankly up at Gohan's face. A sick, cold feeling filled the pit of his stomach as he raised his eyes back to Trunks. "Did you really have to do that?"

"We couldn't risk him getting up again," Trunks said stonily. The time-traveler's sword dripped crimson as he sheathed it once again. "Especially with the way this place is shorting out our energy."

"He wasn't going to get up," Gohan replied. "You launched a sword through his chest."

"So there wasn't really any harm beheading him, was there?"

Gohan tried to contain the shock he felt at his friend's icy words. "He wasn't a threat to us anymore."

Trunks took a step toward Gohan, narrowing his eyes at the taller boy. "What are you saying, Gohan?"

"I'm saying you just killed someone who couldn't fight back."

Trunks practically snarled out his next words. "And I suppose it would have been more merciful to leave him bleeding to death."

"You didn't have to confirm the kill like that."

A stunned look came over the younger Saiyan's face before it was replaced with anger. "Don't you tell me what I _had_ to do. You have no idea—"

Gohan never heard the rest of Trunks' words. The cavern lit up for an instant before darkness fell.

* * *

Piccolo frowned at the two teenagers before him. They stood silently, their eyes closed beneath the swinging pendulum, exactly as they had been for the past several hours.

Mr. Popo spoke aloud the words that Piccolo was thinking. "It's unusual for a training session to last this long."

Piccolo nodded, turning back to the boys. "I know," he said simply. He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose to help relieve the tension behind his eyes. He couldn't wake them, nor could he follow them to whatever distant realm their spirits had been sent.

All he could do was watch and wait.

* * *

Trunks couldn't remember what he'd been saying. He couldn't remember why he'd been angry the instant before. He could remember, barely, that he and Gohan had been arguing, but if his life depended on it, he couldn't recall the topic.

The next several seconds rushed by in a haze. He was vaguely aware of his sword slicing through the body of another reptilian cave-dweller. His mind dimly processed the severed limbs before him as the attacker fell, dead and dismembered, at his feet.

Trunks dropped his sword, rushing back to the motionless form behind him. His vision cleared as he took in the sight of Gohan's body, lying face-up, on the ground.

"No. No." Trunks heard a harsh whisper fill his ears. It took him a moment to realize that the words were his own.

Trunks knelt before his friend. "Come on," he said, placing one hand on the other boy's shoulder, shaking it. "Wake up!"

There was no response.

Trunks hands pressed against Gohan's chest. He felt nothing. Frantically, he began pumping his hands, desperately trying to restart the older boy's heart.

Nothing.

A traitorous voice in his mind began to speak. _You distracted him. You're the only reason he came here in the first place._

"No," Trunks repeated aloud. "This isn't happening."

_You did this._

Gohan's eyes were still open.

_Eyes still open. A pool of blood surrounding him. Thunder clapping in the background. Rain mixing with streams of blood along his face, his arm, his back—_

"There's no time for this." Trunks shook his head, as if to shake out the image of the dead young man in his thoughts and focus on the terrifyingly still teenager before him.

Without thinking, he pulled one hand back, backhanding Gohan across the face. No reaction. He tried again, slapping harder, doing everything he could to keep his own panic at bay as he tried to revive the other teenager.

Gohan's eyes were blank.

"Damnit, Gohan, I will not lose you again!" He grabbed Gohan's shirt, pulling his body so it was sitting up slightly. "Wake up!" He shook the other teenager.

Gohan's head rolled back like a rag doll.

Trunks closed his eyes as he released Gohan, letting the older boy fall back to the ground. Blindly, acting on pure instinct, he gathered what _ki_ he could in his hands. Silently, he released the energy into the still chest beneath his palms.

Something rose beneath Trunks' hands. He heard a soft gasp.

Trunks' eyes snapped open. Gohan's chest was moving, and he was stirring slightly. The older boy blinked a few times, as if even the dim light of the cavern was too much for his eyes.

"What happened?" Gohan's voice was hoarse.

"Your heart," Trunks's throat felt strained and painfully dry. "It just . . ." Trunks took a deep breath before continuing. "It stopped for a bit there."

Gohan frowned slightly, looking in confusion at the younger boy. "Then how . . . ?"

"I shot some energy into your chest."

"That . . . probably shouldn't have worked." Gohan stirred again, trying to sit up.

Trunks placed a hand on Gohan's shoulder, pushing him back toward the ground. "Lie still. You almost died there." Trunks felt his own heartbeat slow, the pounding in his chest dying down as his panic began to recede

"I think the blast I took just shocked my heart into stopping," Gohan said, his voice returning to its normal strength. "I actually feel alright." Again, he tried to sit up; Trunks did not stop him, instead opting to sit beside him on the ground as he pushed himself up.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I think so," Gohan said. He frowned; after a few moments, he shot the other teen a perplexed look. "Hey, Trunks?"

"Yeah?"

Slowly, Gohan brought a hand to his face, rubbing along his jawline and left cheek. "Why does my face hurt?"

* * *

Dende turned to the older Namekian, his wide eyes filled with concern. "They've been in there a long time."

"Yes," Piccolo agreed, not moving from his spot on the floor before the massive pendulum. "They have."

"Longer than they should have."

"I know," Piccolo said. "Do you think everything's alright?"

"I don't know, Piccolo," Dende said gently. "This is the first time anyone's used this chamber since I became guardian."

"Right," Piccolo said, his voice distant. He said nothing further as Dende gathered his staff and made his way back out onto the main platform of the lookout.

* * *

"Are you sure you're alright to walk?"

"For the tenth time, _yes_." Gohan shook his head in exasperation. "Like I said, it was just a shock. That's all."

"It was a shock that almost killed you," Trunks retorted, but did not press further. Gohan seemed to have regained his bearings with surprising speed. Trunks wondered whether the reasons for Gohan's swift recovery had something to do with this world's effects on their combat power, or whether the older boy was simply a remarkably quick healer.

"So what's the plan?" Trunks asked.

"I don't know," Gohan said, looking back up toward the cavern's ceiling. "Try to find a way out of here I guess."

Trunks hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "You shouldn't have come here, you know."

Gohan casually shrugged one shoulder. "It's like I said, this is the first time in a long time I've actually wanted to train."

"This isn't just sparring. This is dangerous."

"Yeah, I'm getting that."

Trunks was about to respond when he heard a now-familiar rustling somewhere overhead. "Shh." He reached one hand out, grabbing Gohan's arm to keep him from walking forward. "I think we've got company again."

Gohan's ears perked up before he silently nodded. Though he did not move into a fighting stance, his posture instantly stiffened as he slowly looked around the cavern.

Trunks reached back toward his scabbard for his sword. His eyes widened as his hand grabbed at nothing. _Damn_, he silently swore. He had, carelessly, left it behind him where Gohan had fallen. He would return for it later; he would have to rely on his skills in hand-to-hand combat for now.

Predictably, another snake-like cave dweller landed before them. A second landed on their other side. Trunks' eyes widened as a third one, followed by a fourth, joined the others. One let out a low hiss; another bared its fangs. Trunks wondered whether it was venom or merely saliva that dripped from its sharp, elongated teeth.

Without further ceremony, one attacked. Trunks blocked the blow, countering with a _ki_ blast of his own. The reptilian easily deflected the blast as another moved in to strike.

It wasn't long before the four cave-dwellers had Trunks and Gohan once again separated, and each demi-Saiyan faced two opponents as they were both forced onto the defensive yet again. Trunks once more cursed his own carelessness in leaving his sword behind as he spared a glance toward Gohan. The older boy was doing all he could to stay standing, narrowly evading the reptilians' blows and blasts as the cavern shook around them.

In an instant, Trunks' attention was jolted back to his own fight. The distraction, however momentary, had lasted too long. Before he could react, both his arms were held tightly behind his back, and his vision began to blur as something constricted around his neck.

He wrested one hand out from behind his back and began to claw at the absurdly strong fingers wrapped around his throat. The grip began to loosen. Trunks gasped, desperately filling his lungs with air lest those fingers regain their vise grip on his neck.

Suddenly, Trunks felt a cold, sharp pain in his chest. The grip on his arm fell away completely, and he looked down to see a green, scaled arm sitting wrist-deep in his chest. Though his legs had gone weak, his body was forced upright by the lean, strong arm pierced through his ribcage.

After what seemed like an eternity, that strangely cold arm pulled back. Trunks only had a moment to appreciate the thick blood that coated the creature's hand before he fell. Involuntarily, Trunks let out a soft sigh, filled with an odd combination of agony and relief, as his knees hit the ground.

Distantly, he heard a familiar voice calling out his name, but couldn't respond. He could only cough, blood dribbling from his mouth as his face lay pressed against the dirt of the cavern floor. He could make out a blur of motion before him before he felt a pair of strong hands grab his shoulders, turning him so he lay on his back.

Trunks' chest no longer hurt, but it felt cold, as though the cave-dweller's icy hand still lay inside. His blood-stained lips moved silently. He tried to form words—any words—but it was as though he had forgotten how to speak. Instead, he heard nothing as he felt blood and bile pool in the back of his throat.

His world faded to black.

* * *

Gohan's eyes snapped open.

He immediately looked down. There was no blood on his hands, no dirt on his clothes, and, he realized as he looked to his right, Trunks appeared to be very much alive beside him.

Trunks' hand went to his chest, feeling for the wound that had gaped there moments before. He reached back for his scabbard; his hand gripped the handle of his sword, now safely tucked away in his sheath. Though he had dark circles under his eyes and his face was lined with exhaustion, he was apparently unharmed.

"Thank goodness, you're back." Gohan shook his head, finally registering the sight of Mr. Popo before him. Piccolo was standing beside him, his arms folded, staring intently at the two teenagers.

Trunks took the opportunity to speak up. "Back? What happened?"

Piccolo frowned at Trunks. "You tell us."

Gohan wearily stepped off the dais beneath the pendulum, stepping down to the floor. "What do you mean? What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" Piccolo echoed incredulously. The look of concern on his mentor's face set Gohan slightly on edge. "What happened in there? Why were you gone so long?"

Gohan raised one eyebrow. "So long?"

"You've been in there for three days."

"Why didn't you wake us up?" asked Trunks as he stepped off the platform.

"It can be very dangerous to remove someone from the room before they come to," Mr. Popo explained. "We couldn't risk separating your spirits from your bodies."

"It didn't feel like three days passed in there," Gohan said, as much to himself as to Piccolo. "It only felt like a few hours."

"That doesn't make any sense." Piccolo frowned at his former pupil's words. "Why did so much more time pass out here than in there?"

"If I had to guess, I'd say it has something to do with how powerful you've become." Gohan and Trunks both turned to see Dende reenter the dimly-lit chamber.

"Of course," Mr. Popo agreed. "They're much stronger than the last group to go in. The Pendulum Room responds to the needs of its users. A few hours of training would do nothing at your level."

"I should have anticipated something like this," Piccolo said, shaking his head. "This was a bad idea."

"No one expected this," Trunks said. "It's no one's fault."

"You should be thanking Piccolo," Mr. Popo interjected. "He would not leave this room until you awoke."

"So you've been watching us stand here for three days?" asked Gohan.

"I couldn't help feeling somewhat responsible for it," Piccolo answered.

"You didn't have to do that, Piccolo."

Trunks' thoughts, meanwhile, seemed to be elsewhere. "I thought . . . how am I still alive?"

Dende frowned at the teenager. "Do you really think we would put your lives at risk during a training exercise?"

"If you die in the Pendulum Room," Mr. Popo continued, "you return to this room and your own bodies."

"It's probably the main advantage of using the Pendulum Room," Dende added.

"Though I don't think it outweighs the disadvantages," said Piccolo. "Not if every session lasts for days at a time."

"It was worth a shot," Trunks said, shrugging one shoulder as he looked toward the sunlit lookout through the open door of the darkened chamber. "I know you were trying to help," he said, sincerely if somewhat distantly. He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but instead only let out a loud yawn. He raised one hand to his eyes, rubbing them blearily. "Three days, huh?"

"Yes," Dende said with a gentle chuckle. "You should probably go get some rest."

"No argument here," Trunks said, suppressing another yawn. "Thanks for everything."

"Nothing to thank us for," Piccolo insisted. Trunks did not respond in kind, instead bidding the two Namekians and Mr. Popo a quick farewell before stepping out onto the lookout. Gohan quickly followed after him.

Trunks was about to take flight when he heard the other teenager's voice call out behind him. "Wait," Gohan said, jogging to catch up to the younger Saiyan.

Trunks turned on one heel to face Gohan. "Yes?"

"Um," Gohan began awkwardly. "About what happened in there."

"Which particular thing?" Trunks asked flatly. "Your heart stopping? Me dying?" Trunks looked away from Gohan, casting his gaze downward toward the earth's surface. His next words were almost too quiet to be heard. "Or you calling me a murderer?"

"I didn't . . . I wouldn't . . ." Gohan frowned, hit by a wave of guilt as he took in the wounded look on the other boy's face. "I'd never say that. I mean, you saved my life twice in the space of two minutes in there. Er, sort of." When Trunks said nothing in response, Gohan continued. "I understand what you did," he said. "It's not like you didn't have your reasons. It made sense. I've just never seen you like that before."

"Sure you have," Trunks said quietly. "When I killed Frieza and his father, remember?" Silence again fell upon the two teenagers as Trunks continued to stare down at the earth below.

Several long moments passed before Trunks spoke again. "It's been longer for you than me, I realize."

"And I guess I didn't really know you then."

"I guess not." Trunks finally turned his head to once again face the other boy. "I didn't enjoy it, Gohan." Another long, awkward pause fell between them. Again, Trunks was the one to break the silence. "We should both be getting home."

"Yeah," Gohan said lamely, unsure what else to add. Before he had the chance to say anything more, Trunks turned away from him and took flight, diving quickly down toward the Earth's surface. It was only when he'd disappeared from sight that Gohan began his own flight home.


	14. Balancing Acts

**Percussion  
****Chapter 13**

**Balancing Acts**

* * *

Trunks sighed as he collapsed onto the sofa. He knew Bulma would not be happy with him dripping sweat onto the upholstery, but after several hours of training in the Gravity Room, he was far too tired to care.

Trunks casually draped one arm over his face, shielding his eyes from the Saturday afternoon sun. It had been a long week. Eight days had passed since he'd left the Pendulum Room, and those days had been filled with near-constant training. His mother had been less than pleased when she'd learned that his "training trip" had actually consisted of a single, 72-hour training session, but she had given up on trying to convince the teenager to take a day or two to rest. Trunks understood that she meant well, but he also knew that he had already wasted enough time.

"It wouldn't kill you to shower first," a familiar, feminine voice broke into Trunks' thoughts. The teenager removed his arm from his face, half sitting so he could face Bulma.

"Mother," he greeted her. "You're home."

"My three o'clock cancelled," Bulma replied, taking a seat on the chair opposite Trunks. "You look terrible, you know."

Trunks was taken aback. "I've just been training," he said, giving his mother a puzzled frown.

"That's what I mean," Bulma said, folding her arms. "You're running yourself ragged."

Trunks sat up fully, swinging his legs over the side of the couch. "Mother—"

"Don't you 'mother' me. You know full well that you're pushing yourself too hard. Between your sessions with Goku and that damn Gravity Room—"

"Mother," Trunks interrupted. "We've been through this a thousand times. I know what I'm doing."

"What happened to occasionally pretending that you're a normal teenager?" Bulma continued, ignoring Trunks' words. "When was the last time you spent any time with Gohan and his friends out in Satan City?"

Trunks pursed his lips tightly. He hadn't spoken to Gohan once since their training session in the Pendulum Room. Trunks wasn't entirely sure what he would say to the other teenager the next time he saw him, and he was not at all eager to find out. Of course, he hadn't explained any of this to Bulma, nor did he particularly want to discuss the incident.

"I've just been busy," Trunks finally offered by way of explanation. "I've had more important things to take care of."

Bulma narrowed her eyes at her teenaged son. "I don't care _who_ raised you, you are definitely your father's son." Trunks was about to protest when the phone rang, cutting him off. Bulma reached for the cordless phone on the side table, answering it.

"Hello?" Bulma said briskly. Trunks watched a look of mild surprise come over his mother's face. "Oh, Videl? What can I do for you?" There was another short pause before Bulma spoke again. "Huh? Who's Pikkon?"

Trunks sighed, rolling his eyes upward. "That's for me." He took the phone from Bulma, quickly greeting the girl on the other end of the line.

Videl didn't bother with exchanging pleasantries. "Hey, you need to head over to Satan City right away."

Trunks' heart skipped a beat. "What? Why?" He swallowed loudly, his thoughts racing. "Did something happen to Gohan?" Immediately, he began going over their foray into the Pendulum Room and wondering if, despite Dende's assurances, his friend might be suffering from some lingering effects from their training session.

"No, nothing like that," Videl said, cutting off Trunks' frantic train of thought. "We're housesitting my dad's place this weekend and you should come over."

Trunks' face fell at Videl's explanation, his relief suddenly replaced with trepidation. He could hear at least one other girl giggling, and he heard an unfamiliar male voice say something in the background. "Um," Trunks said, "I'm not sure. I'm kinda busy—"

"You come here right now," Videl interrupted, "or I will give Angela your phone number and address."

Trunks heard Gohan's voice call out in the background. "She'll do it!"

Trunks' frown deepened. "You wouldn't."

He heard another giggle before Videl spoke again. "Try me."

Trunks let out a soft groan as he leaned back against the couch cushions. "What time?" he asked, his voice heavy with resignation.

"Come out as soon as you can. We're having a monster movie marathon and ordering enough pizza to feed an army. Or Gohan."

"Duly noted," Trunks grumbled. "I'll be there in a couple of hours." Without another word, he hung up, setting the phone back down on the coffee table.

Bulma raised one eyebrow at the teenager. "What was all that about?"

"Apparently I am now housesitting the Satan estate."

Bulma let out a soft laugh. "From my lips to Videl's ears," she said with a smile. "How'd she talk you into it?"

Trunks narrowed his eyes at his mother. "Blackmail. Dirty, dirty blackmail."

"Yeah, she's good at that." Bulma laughed again. "I'm pretty sure that's how she and Gohan started dating."

"He mentioned something about that." He rolled his eyes upward as he stood from the couch. "I'd better go shower and change." He turned and started making his way toward the staircase. "Not like I have anything more pressing to deal with," he said under his breath.

"Trunks," Bulma said sternly. Trunks stopped in his tracks, pinching the bridge of his nose. He turned around to face his mother again and bracing himself for another lecture. Instead, the woman's expression softened. Trunks stood uncomfortably as his mother stared at him from her chair. Several moments passed before she spoke again.

"You don't have to feel guilty about having fun sometimes, you know."

Trunks pursed his lips, doing his best to ignore the hard knot that had formed in his stomach. "I'd better go shower," he repeated, abruptly turning and making his way upstairs.

* * *

Dusk had already settled by the time Trunks arrived at the Satan residence. Videl had greeted him at the door, explaining that her father had gone on a week-long publicity tour. Videl, meanwhile, had made the executive decision to give the estate's staff the week off, meaning that the teenagers would have the house entirely to themselves.

Trunks nodded, slipping his capsule plane into his pocket. Videl quickly led him inside, all but dragging him to the large living room on the west side of the mansion. He saw three girls and one boy, all of whom appeared to be around his age, perched either on one of the sofas or on the many cushions that littered the living room floor.

"Hey, guys," Videl said, getting the four teenagers' attention, "this is Pikkon. Pikkon, these are Erasa's housemates—" Videl pointed at two of the girls seated on the sofa—"Sana and Rei, and our friends Prue and Falla."

"Ah," one of the girls said with a sly grin, "so _you're_ Gohan's cute friend."

"Uh . . ." Trunks felt a slight blush begin to heat his cheeks. "Well, I'm Gohan's friend, anyway."

Trunks heard another familiar female voice speak up behind him. "Sana, cut it out." Trunks turned to see Erasa step into the living room. "You're embarrassing him."

Sana rolled her eyes upward. "_You're_ the one who described him as the cutie with the ponytail. I was just agreeing with you."

Trunks' cheeks glowed hotter. "Uh, nice to see you, Erasa," he said, stepping aside to create more space between himself and the bubbly blonde.

Erasa shot him a brilliant grin. "Glad you could make it." Without further warning, she raised the camera strapped around her wrist and pointed it at the group of teenagers seated in front of her, snapping a photo.

Another one of the girls scowled, blinking rapidly to clear the glare of the flash from her eyes. "Damnit, do you go anywhere without that stupid camera?"

"Nowhere fun, Rei," Erasa said with a soft laugh. Trunks watched as Erasa turned the camera toward Videl, quickly taking another picture.

Videl reached for Erasa's hand, snatching the camera from her grip. "Erasa, I swear, if you don't quit it, I will make you _eat this thing_."

"Sheesh," Erasa said, raising her hands up in front of her in a gesture of surrender. "Alright, alright, enough pictures for one night. Just give me back my camera."

Videl opened her mouth to protest when the doorbell rang. The girl instantly perked up at the sound. "Perfect, food's here," she said, tossing the camera back to her blonde friend as she ran off to answer the door.

Erasa caught the camera midair and set it down on the large circular coffee table. "So," she said, turning her attention back to Trunks. "I haven't seen you all month. How've you been?"

"Uh, fine I guess," Trunks said, again backing away slightly from the blonde. "Busy."

"Too busy to have a little fun?" Erasa asked with a grin.

Trunks cleared his throat, doing his best to ignore the stifled giggles coming from the girls on the couch. "Where is Gohan, anyway?" he asked in an attempt to change the subject.

"He's in the kitchen with Sharpner," she said, pointing down the hallway. "I think they're digging up some drinks."

"Uh, I'll go see if they need help carting anything out here." Before Erasa had the opportunity to object, Trunks quickly stalked out of the living room toward the kitchen. He could hear two voices arguing as he made his way down the hallway.

"Damnit, Brains," a familiar voice complained, "I thought you said the beer would be in the fridge."

"I thought it was. It's not like I'm here that often."

"This is _your_ girlfriend's house."

"No, it's her _father's_ house. You've probably spent more time here than I have."

Trunks tentatively stepped into the kitchen. He saw Gohan and Sharpner both leaning into the large refrigerator, shoving at each other as they rustled through its contents. Trunks cleared his throat to make his presence known. Startled, Sharpner, jerked up, hitting his head loudly on one of the shelves before unleashing a torrent of curses.

Gohan laughed as he turned his head slightly to face Sharpner. "Serves you right."

"Oh yeah?" With that, Sharpner quickly pushed the refrigerator door, clocking Gohan in the head.

"Ow!" Gohan stood up, rubbing the side of his head. "What was that for?"

"Aw, stop being such a baby." Sharpner closed the refrigerator door. "I'm gonna check the big fridge down in the basement. It's probably down there."

Gohan frowned. "This place has a basement?"

Sharpner rolled his eyes. "You really haven't spent much time here." He walked out of the kitchen, giving Trunks a cursory wave as he exited.

Trunks watched Sharpner stride out of the kitchen before turning back to Gohan. They both stood quietly for a few seconds before Trunks broke the silence. "Are you _sure_ you guys are friends?"

Gohan shrugged as a small smile came over his face. "I wonder sometimes." The smile faded as he looked at the other teenager. "I, uh, haven't heard from you in a while."

"I've just been busy training is all."

"Fair enough." Gohan began rubbing uncomfortably at the back of his neck. "So, uh, speaking of training."

Trunks raised an eyebrow at the other boy. "Yeah?"

"About last week," Gohan began after a moment's hesitation. "In the pendulum room."

Trunks leaned back against the kitchen counter. "Gohan, would you please drop it?"

"I actually wanted to apologize," Gohan said.

"You don't have anything to apologize for," Trunks replied icily.

"Yeah, I do. I shouldn't have said what I did. You did what you had to."

"It's _fine_," Trunks said with a scowl. "Drop it."

"It's just, I haven't seen you since. And you're obviously still upset."

"And you think _that's_ why?" Trunks folded his arms in front of him. "Gohan, your damn heart stopped." He looked down at his feet before speaking again, this time more quietly. "I thought you were dead."

"Oh." Gohan began fidgeting with his thumbs as he searched for the right words. "I, uh, wasn't."

Trunks rolled his eyes upward. "Well, obviously," he said, an uncharacteristic harshness in his voice.

"And, I mean, I was just going to wake up out in the real world . . ." Gohan trailed off, unable to think of anything more to say.

"Yeah, that would have been nice to know going in."

"Besides, you're the one who . . ." Again, Gohan trailed off.

"I died," Trunks said bluntly.

"It's not like any of it was real."

"I know, I know," Trunks said. He kept his arms folded as he again broke eye contact with the older demi-Saiyan. "Sure felt real, though. Like with Cell."

Gohan stared at his friend for a few seconds, studying the younger boy before speaking again. "It freaked you out, didn't it?"

"I'm fine," came Trunks' curt reply.

"You know that's nothing to be ashamed of, right?" Gohan asked sympathetically.

Trunks sighed softly, shaking his head. "It's been a long couple of weeks," he said, evading Gohan's question.

"Believe me, I understand," Gohan said, shooting the other teenager a sympathetic smile. "So why we don't join the others for some junk food and _really_ bad movies?"

Trunks shrugged listlessly. "I guess."

"Are you sure you're okay? You seem a little . . ." Gohan trailed off, unsure how to continue.

"I said I'm in, alright?" Trunks said tersely.

"I know. You just seem preoccupied."

"Preoccupied," Trunks said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Gohan, a week ago I thought I watched you die. Again_._ And then had a hole blasted through my chest. _Again_. Yeah, I'm a little preoccupied."

"But it wasn't re—"

"I _know_ it wasn't real!" Trunks snapped. "But there's no reset button when I go back to the future. No simulation to wake up from, no Dragonballs. And instead of training, I'm here hanging out in some blithering idiot's mansion with a bunch of kids I don't even know!"

Gohan stepped back, startled by his friend's outburst. Trunks folded his arms, turning his head to stare off into the corner. Another several moments of silence passed before Gohan again spoke up. "Look, I can't make you stay if you don't want to. I'll smooth things over with the others if you decide to head back to West City. But I really think you should give yourself a chance to relax."

"I know," Trunks sighed out. "And I know one night won't actually make a difference, but . . ."

"Believe me, I get it," Gohan said gently. "You don't want to take any chances. You're scared of failing."

"I _can't_ fail." Trunks' shoulders slumped as he continued, more to himself than to Gohan. "I guess that simulation just reminded me what the stakes were."

Gohan mulled over his words for a few moments before responding. "You can't let the pressure get to you, or you'll burn out."

"So everyone keeps telling me," Trunks said.

They were interrupted by a loud clinking noise behind them as Sharpner reentered the kitchen. "Hey, are you ladies going to stand here talking all night?" the blond teenager said, gently shaking the six pack in his hand. "Or are you going to come into the living room for Kidney Slashers III?"

Trunks whipped around to respond. "Is that the name of the movie or that awful beer you're holding?"

A look of surprised briefly came over Sharpner's face before he laughed. "Ponytail's got a mouth on him. You could learn something, Brains."

"Guys!" Videl called out from down the hall. "Movie's starting! Where's that beer?"

"We're coming!" Sharpner called back. "Seriously, you guys can fuck off if you want, I'm going."

"Yeah, we're in," Gohan said as Sharpner left the kitchen. He turned to Trunks once more. "Are we?"

A deep frown settled over Trunks' features before he responded. "He's going to call me 'Ponytail' forever now, isn't he?"

Gohan laughed at the frustrated look on Trunks' face. "No question."

* * *

Trunks let out a soft groan as he opened his eyes. His back was more than slightly achy—the couch he'd fallen asleep on may have been stylish, but was far too stiff to be comfortable. He couldn't remember actually having fallen asleep, but he could recall that the group of teenagers had been in the middle of their third utterly incomprehensible, near-comically violent science fiction movie before the evening went blank.

His eyes finally adjusted to the bright light streaming in through the windows. He sat up, doing his best to ignore the knots in his back and the aches behind his eyes and in his throat as he looked around the room. He was mildly surprised to find that he was the only one awake.

Trunks' quiet contemplation did not last long. A few moments later, a loud beeping noise began to ring throughout the living room. Trunks quickly fumbled with his watch, trying to turn off the digital alarm before it woke any of the other teenagers.

His efforts were in vain. Mere seconds later, a deep, irate voice began to speak. "Who's the wiseguy waking us all up at the asscrack of dawn?" Sharpner asked, sitting up from the pile of cushions on which he'd fallen asleep the night before.

"It's ten," Trunks said defensively.

"Like I said, asscrack of dawn," Sharpner said, falling back onto his cushions.

"We should be getting up anyway," Videl said around a yawn. "Housekeepers usually get here at eleven on Sundays."

"I thought you gave the staff the week off," Erasa said, rubbing some of the sleep out of her eyes.

"I did," Videl said. "But the cleaning service isn't part of the regular staff. They come once a week from a separate contracting company."

"And you didn't cancel?" asked Sharpner, his voice slightly muffled by the billow beneath his face.

"Do _you_ want to clean this whole place before my dad gets home?"

"Fair enough," Sharpner mumbled. "So is someone going to put on a pot of coffee on or not?"

"You know where everything is," Videl said. "You do it."

Sharpner sat up to glare at her. "Some hostess you are."

"_I'll_ do it," Erasa interrupted, cutting off the argument before it could get too heated. Her tone immediately softened as she turned to Trunks, shooting him a bright smile. "Pikkon? Can you help me in the kitchen?"

"Uh," Trunks said with no small amount of hesitation, "I actually think I need to get going. I wasn't expecting to sleep in this late."

"Oh." Erasa's face fell. "Okay. Rei, Sana, come on?" Erasa made her way back toward the kitchen, with the two other girls following closely behind.

Videl narrowed her eyes at Trunks. "A word, _Pikkon_?" she asked. Without waiting for an answer, Videl stepped over to the sofa where Trunks was seated, grabbed the boy by the arm and dragged him toward the atrium. She only stopped pulling on the younger teenager when she was out of earshot from the living room.

"Videl, what are you doing?" Trunks asked, gently wresting his arm from her surprisingly strong grip.

"I know Erasa can be a little . . . pushy," Videl said, folding her arms. "But she's really not that bad."

"It's not Erasa," Trunks insisted. When met with Videl's incredulous stare, Trunks admitted, "Well, not just Erasa, anyway. I really should get going."

"Why?" said Videl, looking slightly bewildered."

"How much has Gohan told you about why I'm here?"

"Not much. He's mentioned that you've been doing some training with his dad while you're here, but that's about it."

"Well, I am." Trunks paused for a moment, gathering his words. "So, uh, you remember everything that happened with Majin Buu?"

"No," Videl said sarcastically. "I forgot all about the crazy pink demon that killed everyone and everything on the planet and spit out the blubber-monster that's now _living at my dad's house_."

"Right," Trunks continued, ignoring Videl's remark, "well, none of that happened in my timeline. Short version, I think I'm going to have to fight him when I get back to my future."

"Oh." Videl's eyes widened. "That's, uh . . . that's pretty major."

"Yeah, that's one way of putting it," said Trunks. "He's not going to be as strong as he was here. But I have to take him seriously. So I've been training with Goku most every day."

"Yeah, that makes sense," Videl said as she nodded thoughtfully. "Okay, you're off the hook for now. But don't go vanishing on us for another month."

"I'll do my best." Trunks shrugged, but smiled. "But I really don't want to keep Goku waiting." Trunks reached into his pocket for his plane capsule. "Thanks for having me over."

"Like I gave you much choice," Videl said. "I seriously will give Angela your number if you keep blowing us off."

"I'd really rather you didn't," Trunks laughed nervously. "I'm guessing that was your call. Gohan doesn't seem much the type for blackmail."

"You kidding me? I had to swipe your number from his phone book."

Trunks frowned at the petite girl before him. "Wait, so this was all your idea? Why?"

"Trunks, you've _met_ my friends. They're great, but other than Gohan, they're _morons_." Videl rolled her eyes. "We could use another set of brains in the group."

Trunks bit his lip to keep from laughing aloud. "That's not a very nice thing to say about your friends, Videl."

"Oh yeah, I'm real mean. How could I ever insult _Sharpner's_ intelligence?"

Trunks coughed into his palm, stifling another laugh. "Tell Gohan I said bye," he said, grabbing his jacket as he made his way toward the exit.

* * *

It had been nearly a month since Goku had started training Trunks. Though they'd spent hours training on a nearly-daily basis, most of their sessions had focused on basic sparring moves, training in energy manipulation, and generally rebuilding Trunks' combat skills from the ground up.

Which was why Trunks was surprised when Goku had ended their sparring a few minutes in, telling the teenager, "Okay, I want you to transform and power up to full strength."

Trunks frowned. "Full strength?"

"Yep."

Trunks shrugged, but frowned in concentration as he gathered his energy and quickly transformed into his Super Saiyan form. "Alright," Trunks said, "now what?"

"No, no," Goku said, shaking his head and clicking his tongue in dissatisfaction. "C'mon, I know you can do better than that. Power up."

"Alright," Trunks said hesitantly. He closed his eyes, focusing on gathering all his latent energy. A few moments passed before he felt the _ki_ surge through his body, bringing his power to its maximum.

"Better," Goku said as Trunks opened his eyes. Trunks nodded, stepping into a fighting stance. He was taken aback when Goku again shook his head.

"No," instructed Goku, "I want you to cross your legs and sit on the ground."

Trunks raised an eyebrow at his master. "What?"

"Just do it."

Trunks nodded, sitting on the grass and crossing his legs into a standard lotus position. He looked up to see Goku frowning at him.

"I didn't tell you to power down."

"You want me to meditate at my maximum strength?" Trunks asked incredulously.

"That's exactly what I'm telling you to do."

Trunks nodded, again closing his eyes and trying to raise his energy levels. He furrowed his brow, trying to keep his _ki_ at a consistent level despite his relaxed position.

"Trunks." Trunks' eyes snapped open to see Goku sitting cross-legged opposite him on the ground.

"Yes?"

"You're not keeping up your _ki _levels."

Trunks swallowed loudly. "I'm sorry, Goku."

"You have to be able to control your energy under all circumstances. Not just when you're fighting."

Trunks lowered his gaze, suddenly taking interest in a particular blade of grass by his left foot. "I'm not sure I can."

"Look at me," Goku ordered. Reluctantly, Trunks looked up to meet his master's gaze. "I don't want to hear you say that again."

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just do what I say." Trunks nodded, closing his eyes once more. Again, he struggled to keep his energy levels constant. Several long moments passed before Goku's voice interrupted his thoughts again.

"Trunks," Goku said. The teenager opened his eyes, again meeting his mentor's stare. "Listen, I know how strong you are. And I know what kind of fighter you are. You can do this. You just have to remember that you control your power, it doesn't control you."

Trunks nodded, trying to ignore the slight heat that crept into his face. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, quieting his thoughts as he focused on keeping his power levels steady. Several moments passed before he heard his mentor speak again.

"Good, very good," Goku said. "Keep doing what you're doing. Clear your mind and focus on your own energy. Nothing else."

Trunks did not respond, instead continuing to focus on his _ki_. He sat on the grass for some time, concentrating solely on the energy flowing through his body. Trunks was not sure how long he sat, meditating on the damp, cool grass, but it felt as though several minutes passed before he heard Goku speak again.

"Keep your eyes closed," a deep, resonant voice broke into Trunks thoughts, "but listen closely." Trunks nodded, but did not say anything in response. A few moments later, Goku went on.

"Remember what you're doing all this for," the elder Saiyan said. "Really _remember_." Trunks' eyes remained closed as he visualized his home world. He let his mind wander through the streets of his own timeline's version of West City. His mind's eye focused on the newly-paved streets and rebuilt schoolyards, on children playing in open parks for the first time in their lives, on the sight of his mother seated behind her desk at Capsule Corp.

"Now," Goku broke into Trunks's thoughts again, "imagine all that destroyed. Imagine everything you've known, everything you've fought for, gone."

Trunks' throat tightened as he felt an almost electric charge shoot through him, to the pit of his stomach. It was all too easy to imagine his world in shambles. A different set of memories from West City cropped into his mind—buildings reduced to smoldering piles of rubble, children huddled in alleys fearing for their lives, mutilated bodies littering the streets.

"You have the power to stop it. _You_ do. But you have to let it out."

Trunks sucked in a deep breath through his teeth. His heart was racing, pumping ice water through his veins as he took in his mentor's words.

"You're stronger than this body. You can do this."

_Stronger than this body_. The words rang through Trunks' psyche as his heart continued to pound. Soon, he felt an odd, new energy, quite unlike anything he'd felt before, building in his chest.

"Let it go!"

That strange new energy continued to build. Trunks' couldn't tell, now, if Goku was still speaking; he couldn't hear anything over the blood rushing through his own ears. He strained for breath as he felt his lungs fill with ice water, his stomach churning as bright lights flashed before his closed eyes. The energy began to spread through him, filling his back, his shoulders, his neck—

Trunks' eyes snapped open. Moments later, he fell backwards onto the damp grass.

"Are you alright?" Trunks heard Goku ask after a few moments.

"Yeah," Trunks said around a gasp as he struggled to fill his lungs with air. "Yeah, just a little dizzy."

"No problem," Goku said, the earlier intensity gone from his voice. "Take all the time you need." Trunks nodded weakly as he lay on the cool grass, feeling the dew soak through his jacket and into his back. After what felt like a minute or two, Trunks slowly sat up, propping himself up on his forearms as he looked up at his master.

"Sorry about that," Trunks said, his head somewhat clearer. "Do you want me to try again?"

Goku shook his head as he reached one hand down. "Have you been training on your own, too?" he asked, helping Trunks to his feet.

"Of course I have," Trunks said as he steadied himself.

"Hmm," Goku said with a thoughtful nod. "I think you're over-training."

"Over-training?"

"You need to give your body a chance to recover. If you push yourself too hard, too fast, you won't make any progress."

"I appreciate the concern, Goku," Trunks said, "but I think I'll be alright. I don't want to waste more time than I already have."

"Our session's over, Trunks," Goku insisted. "Go home, get some rest."

Trunks wanted to argue, to insist that his dizzy spell had only been a momentary setback, but the look on Goku's face made it clear that the man would hear none of it. Trunks sighed, putting his hands together and bowing quickly. "See you tomorrow?"

"Alright," Goku said. "But promise me you won't train before our session tomorrow afternoon."

"Sure," Trunks said with a nod. "Thanks again." With that, he took flight and began to make his way back toward West City.

* * *

Trunks awoke with a gasp.

The teenager stared at his bedroom ceiling, trying to get his ragged breathing and pounding heartbeat under control. Slowly, he raised one slightly shaking hand to his forehead, wiping the cold sweat that had beaded there. After a few moments, he let his eyes slip shut again.

"It's only a dream," Trunks muttered to himself, letting his head sink back into his pillows. "Same one you've been having for years." He turned onto his side, trying to find a comfortable position on his bed. He tried to banish the nightmare—or, more accurately, the nightmarish memory—to the recesses of his mind once again. He'd often dreamt of his first battle against the androids at the Super World amusement park, of the battle that had left him near death and Gohan missing one arm, but rarely were the dreams so vivid.

Trunks sighed as he tossed onto his other side. His body was achy and tense, and his bedroom felt both chilly and uncomfortably warm. Though he's fallen asleep relatively early the night before, he still felt fatigued.

After several more minutes of tossing and turning, Trunks sat up in his bed. It was no use; he was rarely able to fall back asleep after waking from a nightmare. Beside that, the unusual soreness in his body made it difficult to find a comfortable position.

Trunks stepped out of his bed, stretching in an attempt to loosen his tight muscles. It was futile—he needed a way to work through the tension, and performing basic stretches in his bedroom was not going to do the trick.

Trunks stepped into the hallway. The house was quiet, suggesting that all its other occupants were still asleep. He slowly walked down the stairs, avoiding the few creaky segments of the staircase in an attempt to keep quiet. As he reached to bottom step, he glanced toward the corridor leading to the rear of the Capsule Corp compound.

He had promised Goku that he wouldn't train before their session, but he needed to work through the tension that filled his every nerve and muscle. Surely a few simple exercises would do no harm.

* * *

Goku frowned and folded his arms as he stood at the edge of the clearing, squinting slightly as he peered out into the distance. Trunks had been due to arrive fifteen minutes earlier, and his student had never been late for a session before. A few more minutes passed before he felt a familiar energy signature nearing; he looked up toward the horizon to see Trunks approaching the clearing.

Trunks landed on the grass, walking toward Goku as he waved a greeting. Goku raised an eyebrow at his pupil. "You're late."

Trunks frowned. "I am?" He looked down at his watch before a look of surprise came over him. "Wow, I must've been flying slower than I'd realized. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Goku said, reaching into his pocked. "Let's just get to sparring." He then tossed a small, black strip of cloth at his student, who caught it before looking back up at his mentor.

"What is this?" Trunks asked, a quizzical look on his face.

"It's a blindfold," Goku explained. "You've improved, but you depend too much on your eyes. Blindfold yourself and we'll get started."

Trunks' eyes widened. "You want me to fight you blindfolded?"

"That's what I said. You can't always count on being able to see—and I can tell you, Buu's got no interest in fighting fair."

Trunks nodded tentatively, but complied. Once the blindfold was secure, the teenager got into sparring form. Goku quickly followed. "Whenever you're ready," the older Saiyan said, inviting Trunks to make the first move.

Several moments passed before Trunks obliged. The teenager came toward Goku, ready to strike; the older man easily avoided the blow. Goku moved with a counterstrike, fully expecting Trunks to either block or dodge the attack. The older Saiyan was taken aback when the blow landed, knocking Trunks off his feet.

Goku frowned as he reached down to help his student up. "You're usually better about sensing energy," he said. "Come on, let's try this again."

"Right," Trunks said. "Just, just one minute." Goku's frown deepened as he watched Trunks rest his hands on his knees, apparently out of breath. Still, he kept silent as Trunks once again moved into sparring form.

Goku resumed his stance, again waiting for Trunks to make the first move. Trunks once more took the offensive, rushing at Goku. This time, he remained on the defensive, allowing Trunks to swing wildly in his general direction as he effortlessly avoided every strike. The teenager's fighting form was uncharacteristically poor; his movements were slower than usual, and he seemed to lack his usual level of grace and balance.

Suspicion began to arise in Goku's mind as he caught one of Trunks' arms, easily twisting it behind the youth's back. This was a simple hold, one that Trunks had escaped numerous times before. This time, however, Trunks struggled uselessly for several moments before Goku let him go.

Goku pulled back, landing on the ground several feet behind Trunks before he spoke. "Lose the blindfold." Trunks obeyed, turning to face his master. Goku was surprised to see that Trunks face was fully flushed, and his eyes appeared strangely unfocused.

"Alright," Goku said, his voice filled with a combination of annoyance and concern. "What's going on, Trunks?"

"Guess I'm not in top form today," Trunks admitted, shrugging one shoulder.

"Not in top form?" Goku said incredulously. "I've never seen you this sloppy."

Trunks shrugged again, casting his eyes downward. "I don't know. Just having an off day."

"Trunks, this isn't an off day. This is—"

Before Goku could finish his thought, Trunks hit the ground.

* * *

Trunks blinked several times as he stared up at the ceiling. Something seemed off; the room was brighter than usual, and the ceiling appeared to be lower than he was used to. He frowned, trying to orient himself as he rubbed his eyes with one hand.

"Are you alright?" A deep male voice startled Trunks. He turned his head to see Goku standing next to him. He furrowed his brow in confusion, wondering what had brought the older man to West City.

"What happened?"

"You collapsed in the middle of your lesson, Trunks," Goku said. It finally dawned on Trunks that he was not at Capsule Corp, but rather in what appeared to be Goku's living room. Slowly, he began to recall their earlier lesson—he could remember a brief, blindfolded sparring session, but his memory went blank after that.

"Are you alright?" Goku repeated, sitting on the edge of the coffee table next to the couch.

"I think so," Trunks said, his voice hoarse. "Head's pounding, though."

Trunks was surprised when he saw Goku fold his arms, narrowing his gaze at his student. "You lied to me."

"What?" Trunks asked, taken aback by the undertone of anger in his master's voice.

"You said you would get some rest. Obviously you didn't."

"I just—"

Goku cut him off, placing one cool palm on his forehead. "Now you're too sick to train."

Trunks winced slightly. He wondered how a gesture could be so comforting and, at the same time, so intimidating. "I'm fine," Trunks insisted as Goku removed his hand from his forehead. He sat up quickly, but immediately regretted it as the blood rushed from his head and he fell back down onto the cushions.

"I can't teach you anything if you're too sick to even move," Goku said, shaking his head. "When I tell you to take it easy, it's not just for your benefit. If you wear yourself out, then training's just gonna be a waste of both our time."

"I didn't—"

"You're not stupid," Goku said, again cutting Trunks off mid-sentence. "So don't act like it." Trunks swallowed loudly as he sat up, more slowly this time. He kept his silence, not trusting himself to respond. Though this wasn't the first time he'd seen an angry Goku, he'd never been on the receiving end of the man's temper.

"I'm taking you back to Capsule Corp," Goku continued. "And if I here one word from Bulma about you training before your fever breaks . . ." Goku trailed off, apparently unable to think of a proper threat. "Point is, I'm taking you home, and you are going to get some rest. Got it?"

Trunks nodded, carefully setting his feet on the floor and standing. Goku wrapped one arm around Trunks' back, helping steady him. A moment later, Trunks felt a strange, mildly uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach; he blinked to find himself standing, still propped up by Goku, in the Capsule Corp compound's spacious living room.

Goku pulled back slowly, giving Trunks a moment to get his bearings. "Can you make it upstairs?" Goku asked, somewhat gentler than before.

"I think so," Trunks said with a nod. He began walking toward the staircase, but only made it a few steps before losing his balance and once again falling to the floor. "Or not," Trunks said, his words somewhat muffled by the carpet. "I'm . . . just going to lie down here for a while."

Despite himself, Goku let out a soft chuckle. "Come on, I'll fly you up." Goku again reached down to help Trunks to his feet, wrapping one arm around the boy's waist and placing Trunks' arm around his shoulder. Goku immediately began to levitate, then quickly flew Trunks toward his bedroom.

Goku set Trunks down at the edge of the bed. Trunks sat down, staring at the floor and refusing to make eye contact with his teacher.

"I'm really sorry about this," Trunks said quietly. He kept his gaze cast downward; between his guilt at having wasted his mentor's time and his embarrassment at having been carried home mid-session, he couldn't bring himself to look at Goku.

"I don't want you to be sorry," Goku said. "Just listen to me next time." Trunks simply nodded in response.

Goku's expression softened slightly as he folded his arms, shaking his head at the stubborn teenager. "Feel better, okay?" He didn't wait for a response before exiting the bedroom.

* * *

"That can't be right."

Bulma frowned at the screen in front of her. Over the last several weeks, she had observed the energy signatures she was picking from Trunks' alternate timeline fluctuate wildly, far more than the signatures from her own world. That was to be expected, if the timestream from Trunks' universe had indeed become destabilized as they believed.

What was unexpected were the readings Bulma had picked up over the last several minutes. For a brief period of time, the energy signatures from Trunks' alternate Earth had ceased to fluctuate they way they'd been doing for weeks. In fact, for just under five minutes, the readings from Trunks' timeline were identical to the readings from the present timeline. Then, suddenly, the readings returned to their usual erratic state.

Bulma stared at her lab equipment, furrowing her brow at the dark matter that provided the nexus between Trunks' timeline and her own . "What's going on here?" she asked aloud, as though the dark matter apparatus could answer. "Is the timestream repairing itself?"

She continued to stare at the readings on the screen before her, pondering what the sudden, brief change could possibly signify. She was startled out of her thoughts when she heard a knock on the door of her laboratory.

"Come in!" she called out, turning toward the door. She had expected to see her teenage son, or possibly Vegeta, standing on the other side; instead, she was surprised to see Goku standing before her as the heavy door swung open.

"Goku," she said, rising from her desk and stepping over to greet her friend. "What brings you out here?"

"Well," Goku said sheepishly. "Okay, I don't want to worry you—"

"Worry me?" Bulma said, her eyebrows shooting up to her hairline. "What happened?"

"Um, everything's okay and he's upstairs now, but I thought I should let you know that Trunks got sick during our session this afternoon."

"Sick?" she asked worriedly. "How sick?"

"Pretty sick. Really sick, actually. He, uh, kind of collapsed."

"He _what?_" Bulma demanded, her eyes widening. "Did he pass out?"

"He's awake now," Goku assured her. "But he's got a pretty high fever. You'll probably want to check up on him."

"Yes, of course," Bulma said, nodding as she ran one hand through her short hair. "I told that boy he was running himself ragged. Should have known something like this would happen."

"Yeah," Goku said, "I told him the same thing. He can have a pretty hard head, though."

"You don't know the half of it," Bulma said with a soft, somewhat anxious laugh. "Thanks for bringing him home," she continued as she walked Goku out of her laboratory and up the stairs. "He might actually listen to you." Goku nodded before bidding her goodbye and placing two fingers at his forehead, instantly transmitting himself back to Mount Paozu. Bulma watched Goku vanish before making her way up the stairs toward Trunks bedroom, the strange readings from her lab equipment forgotten.


End file.
